Polonium-210
by palomino333
Summary: "I'm not a nation anymore, Katya, and therefore I'm not sure how much time I will have. Likely it will be about a century, maybe two, but I don't want to live out my years as a forgotten laborer." PruUkr. Mentioned Gerita, Aushun, and Rombela.
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes are at the bottom due to excessive length.

* * *

He hated being bound.

The aversion to it was natural, really. A former nation that, even in his young age, had rampaged across a continent, and sought to conquer it all, could surely not wish to slow down. Funny, then, how the tides of time had changed.

Prussia leaned his head back against the wall, straining his vision as far as he could from that angle to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the light blue sky from the window above and out of the corner of his vision. With a grunt, he strained to slide on his bottom to the side, and get a wider view of the window. The chains binding his legs from the ankles to the hook in the wall across from him in the narrow chamber squealed at the movement, but unfortunately did not give, being too heavy. Prussia's eyes narrowed as he realized too late that he had slid too far, positioning himself directly beneath the window, and shutting the color of the sky out of his vision.

Groaning heavily, Prussia tilted his head forward, and crashed it back against the wall. The impact jolted him, and caused white spots to explode into his vision. He lowered his head from the self-inflicted dizziness, and raised his manacled hands, which had been resting upon his bent knees, to his forehead, rubbing it against the throbbing. He chastised himself for giving into frustration; considering how he no longer was a nation, injuring himself was not the best of ideas.

That wasn't to say the emotional weight wasn't there, rather it simply didn't hold up to the logical. Once upon a time, the Kingdom of Prussia had spanned over a vast territory. Now here Prussia himself was, a mere shadow, bound at wrist and ankle, locked in a chamber too narrow for him to even stretch out his legs, and chasing after slivers of daylight. Lowering his hands, he barked out a laugh. In retrospect, it was rather funny. He had bragged more than once over how awesome he was, only to fade away with nary a whimper.

He smirked, and shifted to make himself more comfortable. On the other hand, his predicament wasn't that difficult to stomach, considering his past. He'd grown a little soft, it seemed, over the years. The room wasn't that much smaller than that in the cloister in which he dwelled as a knight of Teutonic Order, minus the amenity of a cot. Granted, he'd been physically smaller then, but even so, at least he got a glimpse at the sky, as opposed to staring at the thick concrete ceiling of a bunker. The light from the sky was also constant, as opposed to flickering and swaying like a bunker light.

XXXXXX

In the swaying light, he recalled, Germany's usually steady hands trembled, his half-empty glass of schnapps slipping from his fingers to break on the floor with an exclamation of annoyance from his younger brother. The light flickered out with a rocking explosion from street level that sent a layer of dust down. Germany leaned against the wall, and hissed, "Oh, what now?"

"Simple," the older sibling replied, clapping his hands together once, "wait for it to come back on!"

Germany shook his head at him. "Normally, I would take that for levity, but I wouldn't consider this to be the case."

Prussia brushed off the dust that had settled on his uniform. "You're still young yet, Germany. You have much to learn."

Germany's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk down to me. How can you still call me young, in light of what has transpired within the last six years?"

Prussia eyed the pistol holstered at Germany's side. His younger brother lowered his hand to cover it self-consciously. "I don't call that growth." Rolling back his sleeves and loosening his collar, Prussia revealed a series of scars that mapped out his pale skin here and there in a bizarre parody of a grid. Some were very old, the fine white of them nearly melding with the skin. Burn marks from the end some of the knights of the Teutonic Order met with the flame after being proclaimed as heretics, deep scars from slashes of the blade that soldiers under the banners of Prussian kings had taken, rope burns around his neck from the hanged generals of the ill-fated Operation Valkyrie, and, upon most recent occurrence, pale pink scars from the retribution exacted by the Red Army upon East Prussia. The scars from this current era were not fine in the slightest, instead carving deep and viciously, making it appear as if parts of Prussia's skin had holes bored into it. Now that the enemy, having swelled to horrific anger by vengeance and outrage, stood upon the doorstep of Berlin, it could only be imagined the amount of carnage that would come to pass with each day.

Prussia had seen Russia angry several times over the course of his life, but not to this extent, though not without cause. Russia had seen his sisters bleed, he had seen his neighbors bleed, and he himself had heard the tortured screams of millions as they were starved, beaten, shot, raped…The list went on without end, it seemed. In short, Prussia feared for what his brother would be facing in the wake of it all. That was not to say of the sheer anger from the opposing side, though it was highly unlikely that America, despite his cockiness, would be able to arrive in time. He had taught the little Narcissus well in his fledgling years, but even that would not be enough. Nevertheless, a completely western takeover would not necessarily be favorable. England would understandably be furious with Germany, though the recently-freed France would be more so. Not to mention the sheer amount of extortion that had been committed upon Belgium and more so her brother, or the devastation that had been faced by Greece. However, it would still be preferable to the steamroller that was bearing down upon them from the east.

Gilbird shuddered, his wings tucked into himself, from where he sat on his master's shoulder. Prussia patted his bird softly upon the back, pausing to stroke at his wings.

Germany smirked at him, and replied, "How easily you seem to switch in your opinion. Were it 1941, you would have called it growth." His gaze hardened, and he continued on, "But of course, that is you, isn't it? You find a way to stare down your nose at me, even if I fail for just one moment."

July of 1944 stood quietly between them. Germany's gaze lowered toward Prussia's wrists, wrists upon which almost a year prior, he had cuffed in irons with his own hands, and dragged his older brother at gun point into the kangaroo court. There he had forced Prussia to stand and listen without a word passed as the court jester himself, Roland Freisler, yelled and threw tantrums like a child, all but wagging his finger at the accused generals, whose hands were kept busy with holding their pants up.

XXXXXX

Truth be told, during the circus of proceedings, Germany had taken an amount of schadenfreude in how the trial utterly destroyed his brother. He had, after all, betrayed him, and nearly killed his boss. What would have happened then? What greater good could possibly justify throwing the country into tumult, especially in such a dark year as that? However, as Prussia gripped the railing of the balcony too tightly, slouched in his pose, and bit back venomous exclamation after venomous exclamation, Germany lowered his pistol to his side, overcome with shame.

After the convictions were given, and the court adjourned, Prussia swept promptly past him, only to be seized by Germany's hand on his shoulder. "You were not dismissed." He twisted his shoulder out of his grip, and spun on his heel to face him, fixing him with a withering glare. Germany, expecting but still shocked by the sheer hatred in his brother's gaze, felt his back touch the balcony's rail as the room below them descended into the chaos of human movement, their confrontation unnoticed. Despite Prussia's hands being bound before him, rendering his upper body movement lacking in strength, Germany gripped the rail behind him to still his own twitching fingers. It felt as if his past played back to him in a film reel, unwinding before his eyes, his brother holding his frail body close in one arm as he fought off an assailant with another hand, his brother groaning and slumping down, yet still cracking a smile at him as he clutched at a wound, his brother stroking his back, covered with a blanket, as he drifted off to sleep…It went on, unwinding as if it were in a clock.

"Don't worry," Prussia had reassured Germany, the young child standing before him, nervous yet curious about the large world before him. His sword driven into the ground, Prussia had knelt before him on one knee. In retrospect, the brothers had found the scene to be too full of pomp and circumstance, but to a child, it was rather a sight to behold, a former knight pledging himself to a small boy. "I'll be with you always. Wherever you go, I'll protect you."

Prussia's words marked the end of the unwinding. "I don't take orders from impudent little boys who pretend to be men."

Seizing his advantage, and dodging his brother's scorn, Germany let go of the bar, and replied in a tone that held a sense of mocking triumph, "Nevertheless, you are subject to my commands. By order of my boss, and by extension, yours, I hereby place you under house arrest."

Prussia's mouth moved, and he turned his head to look down at the judge, who was being congratulated by members of the press in his "triumph."

Germany added, "You may look upon me as you please, brother, but you also had a hand in my crimes."

Prussia swung his head up. "Yet when I try to stop them," he held up his hands, "I am bound in chains. Which one is it, Ludwig, rebel or conform? You can't have both from me at once."

"You didn't try to stop them when times were still good for you," Germany replied, his tone flinty as he pointed at him. Indicating himself, he added, "We both have turned a blind eye to the atrocities committed in the name of our boss, and look what it has led to. Where was your outrage when Sophie Scholl was decapitated? Where was your anger when the Solf Circle was betrayed?" At Prussia's silence, Germany continued on in a slightly gentler tone, "You are not the only one to have martyrs."

"Yet the machine continues on," Prussia replied with contempt, "You and I both know that the amount of martyrs is miniscule in comparison to those who stand by and allow this to continue. Don't play the innocent card with me."

"If I'd been given my way, I wouldn't have dragged you here," Germany's voice took on a pained edge, "in his name, no less. Do you realize it? We would never have reunited, if not for him. My people were starving, and there was hope given to them again."

"Was it all worth this, Ludwig? You know what continues on to this day. Look at what abominations exist on Poland's land," Germany winced at that, and lowered his gaze as Prussia continued on, "Built by men of your country, who represented your boss, with no other use but to kill. Something that your Sophie Scholl protested about. Feliks likely won't ever forget the screams, even after they are long silent."

Germany waved a hand in a chopping motion. "You nearly decapitated Poland centuries past. What does it matter to you? Ivan himself murdered his chain of command; you can't pin that on me."

"That isn't my point," Prussia replied, shaking his head, "I nearly killed him once, yes, but I didn't force him to bear the agony of having so many die on his land in so agonizing a manner."

"My prejudices," Germany curled his hand in towards himself, casting his gaze away, his voice lowering in volume, "I learned them from someone."

Prussia sighed heavily. "I know, but I would like to think that this was not your intention, and neither was it mine. Regardless, I can see why you were so enchanted by your boss's words in the beginning, and even as you began to lose. What did it matter to you, the dark side of his rhetoric? It was no different from the rants you heard from my bosses, so why should you think different, especially considering you heard them from me?"

"There isn't any changing it," Germany replied with a shake of the head, "The war will continue on now until the end game, you know that."

Realization dawned upon Prussia. "Is that why I was brought here, then?"

Germany folded his hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. It was completely self-driven."

Prussia made a dismissive gesture. "It's passed. Had you been young still, I would have arranged for your safety, as well."

Germany looked away from him. "Italy was my comrade. I couldn't allow for him to be subjected to the punishments that my boss allotted him."

Prussia twisted his wrists back and forth, rattling the manacles. "Had you been caught, you likely would have been given the treasonous charge." He laughed darkly. "Funny, I thought I wouldn't have been caught, considering how awesome I am."

His black humor, unfortunately, didn't bring a smile from Germany, though it did soften him further. Turning back, he explained with remorse, "In light of the occasion, I can't arrange for your escape. I apologize, but—"

"But your boss demanded that you bring me in," Prussia cut him off, "and you completed the order to the letter." He smirked. "You're a good soldier, as always."

Germany gnashed his teeth for a moment, and shook his head. "You don't think me completely cold, brother. Don't try to get a rise out of me now."

Prussia turned away from him, and walked to the edge of the balcony, staring down at the banners that bore the swastika and blood red of the regime. He found them to be more and more garish with each passing day. "We'd desired reunification, and now we'll pay for it. Don't think that I'm only staying here out of familial love."

Germany, understanding his underlying meaning, said nothing on the matter.

Prussia had held well to his sentencing, though there wasn't much else he could have done, detained as he was. East Prussia and the Reichsgau Danzig-West Prussia had fallen, and he had not even been there to witness the mass exodus of its people. Though, it did wake him, the pain his body endured, each pull, rip, and tear, blood running onto the tile, or the faucet. Staggering, he'd grasped about blindly for assistance, and his brother was always there to catch him, or to hold him up, despite his protests of, "I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry about me."

Germany's boss had been quite disgusted at the sight of his scars, and refused to look at him. Prussia frankly didn't care, for every time that he was regarded as a failed state, he met the blow (mentally, as he wasn't foolish enough to get Germany in trouble) with the insult that this clown didn't deserve to stand within Old Fritz's shadow, let alone to claim his title as his own.

But what did it matter, really, within this dreary bunker? Germany's precious Italy was safe, far from this war. At least he could take what little token of happiness he could from that. He didn't have to see him as this broken shell of a nation. Then again, Prussia figured, albeit begrudgingly, that was what brothers were for, to see each other so broken, yet to also drag each other up off the floor. Ironic, really, considering that Germany's boss despised homosexuals, yet the nation himself carried a torch for another nation of the same sex. It was almost tragically romantic, the soldier dying in war while his love was stowed safely away.

But Italy would have his dues to pay, as well. Abyssinia, for one. Prussia hadn't been privy to the parting, but he could assume that it was something he wouldn't have wanted to see, anyway. He'd taught Germany that men didn't cry, but he suspected that his brother must have come rather close to breaking it on that day, if not actually doing so. He'd taken notice of the fact that in darker days still, his brother had had to leave the room on more than one occasion. Sometimes, when he did walk in on him, Prussia chanced to find him, his hands braced over his desk, staring down at photos at what had once been, his back rigid, and his head lowered.

Typically, Germany would order him to get out, which Prussia would oblige, if only for the fact that nothing could be gained from the conversation. On other occasions, however, he would say nothing, silently acknowledging Prussia's presence. Prussia would keep his distance for the sake of tact, leaning against the doorway through which he had entered, or sitting on a chair in the room, never hovering about, only remaining near.

Today, Germany had swiped the photos off the table, sending them to the floor, and grasped his brother's shoulder, staring into his eyes as if demanding to know where this all had led him. Prussia, much to their mutual disappointment, had had no answer for him, save for a touch of dark humor. "An awesome ending to it all, don't you think?"

Germany had looked half-compelled to strike him, but instead relented, dropping his hands and digging beneath the desk. When the shine of the bottle of schnapps caught the light, Prussia outright grinned at his brother's cunning. Turning the bottle to reveal the year to Prussia, Germany explained, "I'd been saving this for a better day, but I think that this is the best day we'll get at this point."

XXXXXX

Tilting the bottle to pour himself one last drink, Prussia responded without looking at Germany, "That's wrong, and you know it."

"Not entirely," Germany corrected him.

Prussia sighed, placing the bottle back down. "If you were right, would it satisfy you to know that? Or is it one of the last victories you wish to take before this war is over?" Turning, full glass in hand, he regarded him with a sardonic smile, his cheeks already having reddened from his last few drinks. Saluting him with his glass, Prussia answered his own question, "Of course you find the last victory that you can." He tipped back his glass, and drank.

"Do not judge me so," Germany replied, a slight terseness to his voice serving as a warning.

"You judged me last year," he continued evenly, thumping the glass down upon the desk, and smacking his lips, "It is only fair that I return fire on that front."

"A year of suffering, and that is all you can think of?" Germany hissed, though the shaky undertone of it told his brother that he was deliberately dodging the implications of the remark.

Prussia, however, refused to allow him to dance around it, and plainly responded, "Six years will be held against us both. Just because a wound was taken in 1942 or 1939, it doesn't mean that the pain it has caused has diminished."

"We're tired of war," Germany's tone was heavy, but there was a pleading note to it.

Prussia nodded. "Likely Kiku is, too, but he continues on, as well, of his own volition."

Germany looked up that. "Kiku has his emperor, and we have our Fürher. It is not as if there is a choice here." He waved an arm. "The cream of the Wehrmacht is gone. What have we left but amputees, young boys and girls, and old men?"

Realizing that the conversation was going in circles, Prussia replied gravely, heading over to the doorway, "Then they had better count."

"Where do you think you're going?" Germany inquired.

Looking back over his shoulder as the light flickered back on, Prussia replied, "Nowhere of significance. I am under house arrest."

Swaying light bulbs illuminated the hallways, with the echoes of explosions sounding from the level above. Footsteps thundered down the corridor as secretaries, aides, and communications men rushed off, some pushing past Prussia. Reaching up, he grasped Gilbird, and brought him down to the level of his greatcoat. "Stay quiet for a few moments. I'll give you a treat later," he ordered his pet. Obediently, Gilbird crawled inside his inner coat pocket.

The messenger sat slouched on a stool in a dark corner near a broom closet, tugging on his gloves absent-mindedly. The uniform looked overly large on him, his face covered in soot. He started up with a quick salute as Prussia approached him. Motioning for him to sit down, Prussia pulled his payment, a couple of tins of food, from within his pocket to present to him. The boy, thanking him multiple times over, gladly took them. "How old are you, Hase?"

Hase glanced up at him from where he was quickly putting the tins away in his satchel, and utterly failed at keeping the stammer from his voice. "Just turned fifteen about a few months ago, sir. Thank you for allowing me a rest down here while in wait of your decision."

Prussia knelt down to get on his eye level. "Have you a family?"

Hase nodded. "Yes, a mother and three sisters." He bit the side of his lip. "My father was run over by a Soviet tank on the Eastern Front. My youngest sister is only five."

"I can assume that you would desire to follow General Wenck in his breakout?" Prussia inquired.

Hase gulped, and shrunk back, but Prussia made no comment upon his movements. Realizing that the nation wasn't judging him on his values, Hase relaxed, folding his hands over his bent knees. "Forgive me, but I fear for them. This may be our only chance." He shook his head, his voice breaking. "I do not want them to suffer the fate my father did!"

"Calm down, calm down," Prussia soothed, his voice low as he looked about to see if they were overheard. Looking back at Hase, he ordered, "Take the message to Wenck that you will be taking the spirit of Germany with you in the breakout. He will know what I mean."

Hase nodded his head, standing up. "Very well, Colonel Beilschmidt."

Prussia smiled, finding his ruse to be effective. Reaching into his coat once more, he withdrew a bar of chocolate. "My second payment. My advice to you is to use it for bartering purposes. Money will not be of much use now."

Hase took it graciously, and stood, putting the chocolate away. "Thank you, sir. It will be done." Taking his leave quickly, Hase was lost in the chaos of the hall beyond the small alcove.

Prussia placed the palm of his hand upon the stool on which Hase had sat, and leaned his weight upon it. He had felt as if he had been late to board a train or bus, and was watching it rush away from him. Yet, as the moments ticked by, Prussia stood straighter, feeling a small sense of peace falling over him. At least his brother would have boarded that train or bus. It would not be easy for Germany, but it would be preferable to Prussia's fate. He had his dear Italy, anyway, and the saccharine sweetness that came with their little bond.

Reaching back into his greatcoat, he withdrew Gilbird, and stroked him behind the feathers. "Come on, it's time for your treat."

XXXXXX

The sound of the cell door's heavy lock releasing caught Prussia's ear, and broke him out of his reverie. The door opened slowly with a feminine grunt behind it, indicating that the woman was having a difficulty getting it open. Prussia chuckled at that, figuring that Ukraine was probably using her hip, her hands currently full.

Just as he had suspected, she entered with Gilbird, his groomed feathers giving off a handsome sheen, upon her shoulder. In her hands, she bore a tray, upon which sat a glass of water and a modest paska. Steam rose from the paska, causing Prussia's mouth to water.

"It's Easter Sunday already?" Prussia asked in surprise at the sight of the paska.

Ukraine nodded her head, kneeling down to set the tray upon the floor, her breasts bouncing with the movement. "I managed to receive permission to give you a slight indulgence for the occasion. There is also this," reaching into the pocket of her overalls, she withdrew a letter titled in Cyrillic. "That is your name upon the envelope."

Prussia decided to put off opening it by allowing her to place it on the side of the tray. Gilbird fluttered over to land upon his master's head. Prussia smiled at that as Ukraine procured the key from her pocket to unlock his cuffs, and allow him to eat. He hesitated before picking up the fork and knife that were lying upon the tray, and Ukraine apologized, "Forgive me, I have to watch you eat, you know that."

He shook his head, knowing that this had been routine for a few years already. Any hesitation or desire for privacy brought out the same verbal response from Ukraine, her warning unspoken to him. "I just found it odd, is all," he explained, "Religious holidays pass like ordinary days to me now."

Ukraine smiled at that, bending her knees to bring them together. "I would say that you are living within a biblical story now, Lazarus." The humor elicited a smile from Prussia, which fell as he dug into the paska. "What time of year did you think it was?" Ukraine inquired.

"Sometime in the middle of winter," he replied, taking a moment to swallow, "You forget that the window into this cell is always closed, so I can't hear any changes from outside. Even the small parts of sky I can see don't tell me very much, as there are plenty of winter days with clear skies. You yourself know better than I how long winters here are."

She agreed, and he noticed the dried mud caked upon her clothing in places, along with her hairline. A smell of earth rose from her. She herself proved to have been taking an examination of him, as well, by noting, "Your wounds are healing well."

"I don't own a mirror. You'll have to be more descriptive," he remarked plainly, "At least I can see out of both eyes now." Prussia felt embarrassment fall over him. Ukraine fed him bread and water, as allowed by Russia, once a day, thus this allowed her to see him in states that he had found to be rather unbecoming of himself. On occasions when he'd been beaten or interrogated were the worst, though the most humiliating had been after his uniform had been all but torn from his body, him leaving half-naked. He'd been given a much shabbier outfit to wear the next day, but the intention was understood. Ukraine had taken the liberty to say nothing about his state that day, focusing her gaze upon his hands and mouth as he ate, but her unspoken pity had hung between them. Prussia had eaten briskly that day, despite knowing that it would only hasten his return to being manacled, and Gilbird leaving with Ukraine, but he hadn't cared; he'd felt so ashamed.

"Your bruises are of a yellow color now," she explained, "Likely in a couple of days they will be healed."

Prussia set down his fork, and was about to wipe his mouth on his sleeve when Ukraine offered him a handkerchief. He suspected that the knife and fork weren't from Russia, since he was never allowed a napkin. Accepting it, he cleaned himself off. "He's slowing down," he noted.

Ukraine cracked a smile. "It's a good thing, yes? You are left alone more."

Deciding to ignore the implications of the envelope once more, Prussia picked up Gilbird, and placed him down upon the floor between them. The bird preened his feathers before taking flight about the small room, stopping to perch upon the windowsill. "He's in excellent shape, Katya."

"I keep my promises," she replied simply, though the word "promise" was stretching things.

His hands cuffed, and his ankles bound by leg irons, Prussia had ordered Gilbird to fly and land upon Ukraine's shoulder upon the day Berlin fell. The next moment, a rag had been jammed into Prussia's mouth to keep him from barking another command. Ukraine, surprised at the bird alighting upon her shoulder, had glanced Gilbird before looking back at his master, who stared up at her pleadingly before his head was shoved into the asphalt pavement. Wincing from the impact, he'd glanced up from out of the corner of his left eye, and saw her nod and take Gilbird gently between her gloved hands.

The look upon Ukraine's face that day had been a rather curious mix, but one that appeared to age her quite a bit. All at once, she appeared appalled at the violence around her, standing back from the Red Army soldiers, and turning her head, as if staring through the scene, not focusing on any one part of it. She also had a feeling of vengefulness, as indicated by the tightening of her grip on the hilt of her saber. Above all, however, there was the sheer weariness about her, and the utterly haunted look about her eyes. There was blood splattered upon her uniform, and she was covered in soot and dust from falling plaster. There wasn't a sense of joviality about her for the destruction around her, rather it was a sense of tired detachment, as if she was wandering through a dream. The lack of maliciousness at that moment had indicated her as a safe choice for his pet.

His sword was the first thing that had been taken from him by Russia, and Prussia figured that he had no intention of giving it back. The greater humiliation had sunk in, however, upon staring at the Allied nations altogether, and seeing them point, and condemn his existence for much of what had occurred under the regime of his brother's boss. Prussia had kept his head held high upon the dissolution, but upon returning to his cell, had allowed the tears to fall in silence. He couldn't bring himself to think of Old Fritz, knowing that the man would have thought of him as weak.

Placing the knife and fork upon the empty plate, Prussia began, "As rare as this is to hear from me, thank you."

She smiled at him, though it slipped off as she picked up the letter. "Would you like me to read it?"

"If its contents are written in the same language, I will have no choice," he replied, leaning forward to scratch and rub at his ankles where the cuffs were beginning to cut off circulation.

Opening up the letter, she scanned over the page. Prussia glanced up, and could already guess as to the contents of it as her face slowly fell. Folding it, she placed it aside. "I'm sorry, Gilbert, but you've been called by my brother to perform manual labor for the better of the Soviet Union."

Prussia took the news with a wince. "When do I begin?"

"Tomorrow," she replied simply.

"I hadn't expected anything different. I won't be kept in here again, will I?"

Ukraine shook her head. "No, but you will be quartered within a workers' dormitory."

Prussia thoughtfully placed his hand to his chin. "Hmm, so the alternative is to fade into obscurity."

Ukraine shook her head, leaning forward. "You'll be outside. Isn't that what you want? You aren't living in here, Prussia, merely existing. Imagine what a few more years could do to you!"

Prussia leaned back against the wall. "Time moves more quickly for us, you know that. Days slip away into nothing before they can even be grasped."

Ukraine grabbed his hand, but Prussia snatched it back. Narrowing her eyes, and propping herself up on the palms of her hands, she demanded, "Don't tell me you're giving up, not after the self-indulgent rants you have given over the centuries."

"Does it look like I am?" Prussia hissed, his hand raised in the air.

"You might as well be," Ukraine responded evenly, "You aren't given a choice in this. Should you try to stay, you will be dragged out, anyway. Is that what you want?"

"It's better than to bow my head, and take what I am told!" Prussia snapped, dropping his hand to the floor and turning away from her.

"That's a nice way to think of Hungary and me, isn't it?" Ukraine prodded.

Prussia tensed at her words. Leaping to the defense of his friend, he rounded about on Ukraine. "What exactly could Elizabeta have done? She had given everything she could have, and what did it lead to?" He pounded his fist upon the floor, sounding out each word, "Enslavement. Rape. Pillaging. Utter devastation wrought upon her by your brother." His palm flattened on the floor. "You yourself saw what was done to her. What Roderich was put through was your doing, however." Prussia broke off to smirk at that. "Though I have to say it was a good beating you issued out upon him, Cossack. The breaking of the glasses was a nice touch, and I must say I haven't seen limbs twisted that many ways since Waterloo."

Ukraine raised an eyebrow. "All these items can be laid at the feet of your brother and you, and tenfold, at that." Prussia found he could say nothing at the stinging remark, and she continued on. "Let us not forget the mining of undesirables from Hungary and Austria, as well." Prussia winced. Sensing that he was clearly disturbed, she rested her case, continuing more gently, "It is your way out of this cell, Gilbert. Ivan very well could have left you in here for the rest of your days. Is that what you want?"

Prussia found his voice again. "It clearly isn't something that you want." Glancing up at Gilbird, he remarked, "You could have killed him, but you didn't. You're an odd one, Katya."

"After seeing the deaths of so many of my people in just two decades, I have altered my perceptions."

Prussia looked back at her. "Don't try to hide things from me, Cossack. I know what you are, prone to crying over the smallest injury to others, yet willing to leap into the fray, as well. I can see where Russia and Belarus get it from."

"As do I, Teuton," she replied evenly, a catch in her voice from the biting undertone of his remark. The catch slipped, and was replaced with a knife's edge of sarcasm. "My 'liberator.'" The irony of the statement was not lost upon Prussia as he leaned down to scratch at his ankle again. "On that note, you can also lay the blame upon me for the atrocities," she added, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "as opposed to demonizing my brother further."

Prussia paused, glancing up. "I'm surprised you'd admit that."

Ukraine snorted. "At least one of us in this room did."

His hand fell to his side. "Fine, I'll admit it one thousand times over if you want! I'll take the Final Solution and the entire Eastern Front upon my back!" His voice dropped in volume, the strain of his tone considerable, "But it won't bring back the dead."

Ukraine held out her hand, palm up, and Prussia stared at it for a few moments before grasping it tightly. "How is Feliks?"

She sighed. "I commend his attempt to put up a light-hearted face in spite of it all, but it isn't the same. Toris tells me that there have been quite a few nights already where he can't sleep for the screaming, and there are moments where he mentally wanders off. I'll be speaking with him afterwards today." Prussia felt a sense of covetousness at that, but let it slide. Poland needed her and Lithuania at the moment, and it was understandable why.

"Funny, isn't it?" He remarked, looking up at her, "I haven't done this often either, but I suppose the occasion is appropriate, considering the day. I'm sorry." Ukraine's eyes widened at that, and her breath caught in her throat with a damp sound. Taking her hand from Prussia's, she brought it to her mouth, while another wiped at her eyes. "It isn't nearly enough, but I'm sorry about what my brother and I did to you." Bracing his shoulder against the wall, Prussia explained himself. "I'm not a nation anymore, Katya, and therefore I'm not sure how much time I will have. Likely it will be about a century, maybe two, but I don't want to live out my years as a forgotten laborer."

He lowered his head so that she would not see the expression upon his face. "My count of days has not yet slowed down; they race by me still, and I can't get them to slow down." His voice cracked as he added, "I want to see Ludwig again! I can't bear the thought of dying without seeing him!" The corners of his eyes burned, and he rubbed hard at them.

Her hand found his shoulder, and he looked up. Ukraine's face bore no judgment, rather her glance held sympathy. Prussia felt embarrassed by it, but didn't comment upon it. "You will," she reassured, smiling at him, "As I recall, you trained America, didn't you? Have a little faith in your student."

Prussia tried to crack a smile, but found that it didn't hold. "Faith is one of the things I have lost these days."

She glanced about herself. "Ludwig wouldn't want for you to live like this."

Prussia relented, knowing she had beaten him on that point. "No, he wouldn't. I suppose then that I will start working tomorrow." He whistled for Gilbird to descend into his hands, and held him out to Ukraine. Gently taking the bird, she placed him upon her shoulder, and withdrew the key to the manacles with an apology.

As the cuffs clicked shut, she elaborated. "After the establishment of the Reichkommissariat upon my land, I feared that I would never see my brother and sister again. Ivan was badly bled, and Natalia…I was honestly worried that she would have faded away, she lost so much. Yet, we are together again." Laying her hand on his wrist, she added, "I speak to you in light of the tragedies that I have experienced when I say that you will see him again. It will likely not be immediate, but you will."

* * *

I originally had intended this only to be a one-shot, but the story expanded to a point where it will have to be a chapter fic. Chapter 2 is already completed on file, and 3 is in production.

The argument scenes between Prussia and Germany, while both holding weight from each side, also are pissing contests between the two, thus they aren't being fair to each other on purpose. Other than the word "schadenfreude," I'm going to be careful to not use gratuitous foreign words in this, unless they are of historical importance. Please note that I've only watched the anime series, therefore I'm not quite sure exactly how the countries work when interacting with the people that dwell upon their lands, though I can figure that they attempt to blend in with their people.

Originally, I had Germany smoking in the bunker scene, but this wouldn't have been accurate, as Hitler would still have been alive at the time. It wasn't until after Hitler shot himself in the head that his staff lit up cigarettes within the bunker.

Historical notes:

The Vienna Offensive was launched by the 3rd Ukranian Front, thus Ukraine is credited in the story with beating up Austria.

Belarus had it the absolute worst on the Eastern Front, thus Ukraine worried that her sister would have faded away. To this day, I am still shocked by the staggering amount of death and destruction that country faced during that period of time.

General Walther Wenck was the commander of the 12th German Army in Berlin at the conclusion of World War II. When he was ordered to assault and retake Berlin from the Soviets, Wenck refused, and instead ordered his army to escort German refugees and civilians to the American lines, and immediately surrender. As a result, a quarter of a million German refugees (including 25000 German soldiers) were saved.

Hungary lost 60% of its economy as a direct result of World War II.

The Solf Circle was a gathering of German intellectuals as a short-lived resistance movement against the Nazi regime. The circle was betrayed, with the majority of the members being arrested and executed, after an undercover Gestapo official attended one of their informal tea party meetings on September 10, 1943.

Sophie Scholl was one of the most famous members of the White Rose Resistance, but far from the only member. A non-violent protest group of students and one professor from the University of Munich, the movement spread pamphlets protesting against the atrocities of the regime, starting in June of 1942. Unfortunately, the movement came to ruin, with the students and the professor being executed via guillotine in 1943.

After Operation Valkyrie proved unsuccessful, the generals were forced to the stand on trial without belts for their pants in order to further humiliate them. The hanging judge, Roland Freisler, died in a bombing raid in 1945, still clutching important files to himself that he had attempted to retrieve. It should be of note that he punished several members of the White Rose Resistance. Valkyrie is credited to Prussia in this story due to the assassination attempt occurring in East Prussia, and from several of the generals involved hailing from Prussian lineage. There were other resistance movements in Nazi Germany, such as the Edelweiss Pirates and the Swing Kids, but I couldn't cover all of them for the sake of brevity.

Out of revenge for Abyssinia (Ethiopia) kicking out Italian colonial forces, the country became Mussolini's first target. Mustard gas was employed against Abyssinian (Ethiopian) soldiers, which was a clear violation of human rights. That is to say nothing of Yekatit 12.


	2. Chapter 2

I had several reservations about posting this chapter, the graphic subject matter of it being the most principal, as I feared that it leaned too far into gratuity. However, considering the amount of crimes that Prussia carries responsibility for (as did his brother, but West Germany was under a different jurisdiction) I figured it would be best to start from the bottom, and work slowly upward. That being said, this is the most I will physically rag doll the character, as I find the psychological implications of Prussia's situation to be more compelling than simply falling into body-horror based shlock. I will say this right now, however: I DO NOT absolve either side of the conflict of World War II of any war crime committed, as each and every one of them were heinous.

While Russia is an antagonistic force in this tale, it is not my intention to portray him as evil. Rather, he is someone who has been betrayed, and then cruelly abused by the entities he had placed his trust in. He is carrying much pain within himself, to say nothing of his mounting tension with America, or his unhappy history. Add the fact that Prussia used to pick on him when he was younger, and the picture offered is of a Russia who is, quite honestly, fed up with Prussia, and is seeking some form of justice, if not vengeance. I heavily dislike the go-to portrayal of Russia as a brute or a sadist, as that is not his character. I am not justifying his methods, however, rather I'm just trying to give him his say. Part of why he appears as he does is the fact that the story takes place from Prussia's point-of-view, therefore there will be a bias on the part of the main character. Further note on bias: had this taken place from Germany's point-of-view, I would have delved into America's darker side as well, but as it stands, due to locking myself into Prussia's head, I can only extend my reach so far. However, I will try my absolute best to at the very least touch upon subjects such as CIA having its hand in toppling democracies (particularly Latin American, as that is what I have the best acquaintance with) for purely capitalistic reasons. I don't want to portray either Russia or America as being completely in the wrong or the right in this.

I admittedly took a liberty involving Prussia's work detail and escape attempt, as while I know that German POW's in the Soviet Union did have to perform physical labor, I am not 100% positive that it included garbage detail.

* * *

The work allowed for Prussia to move about, but that was the only positive aspect of it.

He'd thinned out considerably while inside that cell, thus the transition back into something resembling physical aptitude was painful. It didn't necessarily help the situation that Russia relegated him to the more physically heavy jobs, such as ditch-digging, repair of masonry, road crew, and garbage detail. Prussia often collapsed upon his bunk, his hands worn raw, with one arm over his eyes. He was unable to banish the stink from himself even after being stripped naked, his arms splayed out on entire side of himself, and blasted clean with a hose after each day of work. He'd be let go to fall to the floor in a shivering heap, his gritted teeth chattering while the soldiers around him jeered and made jokes. He'd swung, kicked, or bit on multiple occasions in retaliation, earning him cracked ribs, fractured joints, cigarette burns, or, on rare occasions, nights of being tied to a post until sunrise.

The latter punishment concerned Prussia the most. During the warmer months, this caused bugs to crawl upon his body, especially in the areas where the ropes cut his skin, and draw blood. The itching sensation was a nuisance, but it was preferable to standing out in freezing temperatures, which were far worse. Frostbite didn't cost him his limbs, but the struggle his body had against it was utterly painful, as if he was standing on broken glass. It wasn't the discomfort that was an issue, rather it was its implications. Always a different guard came to untie Prussia in the morning, but the expression was the same: utter shock at how the white-haired man would greet him with a bored stare. The guards and prisoners that saw the incident had to have put two and two together at some point, and figured out that he wasn't exactly what could be termed normal for a human. His white hair and red eyes weren't helping, either, as they caused him to stand out from the ranks. The fact that he could heal more quickly than his human compatriots was also problematic, but thankfully it didn't seem to be closely monitored due to the sheer amount of prisoners. Even so, Prussia theorized that Russia likely had a hand in this guise of mystery being kept about him. Russia may have held a grudge against him, but he was far from foolish enough to allow mankind such a revelation. Along with that, the punishment simply bored him, as he had nothing to do but stare up at a clouded sky, and attempt to find slivers of the moon peering through.

The men he was quartered with were all broken in various ways, having been veterans of the Second World War. Despite the men swearing up and down that the SS was responsible for all of the atrocities, Prussia found that hard to reconcile with the sheer amount of destruction that had occurred, but then again, no man liked to admit that he had once been monstrous. This was doubly more so in the face of the guards, the prisoners clinging tightly to the narrative of victimization.

Brutality by the guards was common, with clubs swinging and men being dragged along the ground or floor by the hair, arms, or legs. Jeers about sexual assault against the prisoners' female family members were old hat, but nonetheless biting and obscene, especially considering that there was free range on the age of imagined targets (also gender, if a prisoner in question had a young son). Taking a hammer, a guard smashed Prussia's fingers when he'd found a stolen pen within his coat. He later scraped the dried blood off his hands by gnawing on them, and listened to his fingers audibly snapping back into place as the joints repaired themselves. In retrospect, Prussia found himself to be foolish. He could have hidden the pen better, and he hadn't managed to find a paper in order to attempt to smuggle a message to Germany. Unfortunately, he hadn't figured out the plan past the idea of stealing the pen and paper to start with, but the thought at least counted.

He'd been smart to leave his pet with Ukraine once more. The other men in the bunking area tended to trap rats and bugs for extra food, their provisions simply not being enough for the amount of physical labor they were given. The paska Ukraine had made him was a distant memory, one that Prussia didn't chase in his waking hours, so as to avoid going mad. In his dreams, however, he sat at a long table filled with food to the point where the table buckled underneath the amount. No matter how much he stuffed into his mouth, however, the pile of food would neither decrease in bulk, nor would his stomach fill. When a makeshift cage snapped shut, and a cheer went up, the image of so many half-alive skeletons in Auschwitz, Ravensbrück, Theresienstadt, and Majdanek, spun gray by the projector reels he had been forced to watch, appeared in his mind's eye. Lice was a problem in the area as well, with Prussia scratching roughly at his scalp to rip out the offending vermin. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

The other prisoners whispered rumors over Prussia's collection of scars, particularly the rope burns whenever they protruded from his collar, his weight loss having caused his clothing to sag on his frame. His quick healing, particularly after the incident involving the hammer, had been noticed, thus the others tended to stay away from him, not knowing what he exactly was. It at least gave him some fragment of a sense of quiet, despite the rumors that circled about him. The downside to it was that Prussia was mainly left on his own on the colder nights, his blanket only providing so much warmth. The exhaustion was a boon, as being left with his thoughts would have driven him mad.

"Never forget who you are," he'd mumble to himself in a mantra upon slipping into unconsciousness each night, "You are the awesome Prussia, not some worthless human." He'd recollected what Ukraine had told him, and tried to reassure himself that this too would pass, but his mental capacity was slipping from lack of proper nutrition. He hadn't much strength to even feel animosity either toward her for dressing up the work detail as something positive, or toward Russia for condemning him to his hell, rather his focus was merely to drag himself through to the next day.

Prussia mumbled the mantra when his memories drew too close upon him, knowing he would surely snap if he was lost in them. He tried not to think of Ludwig very often, and he'd had little opportunity to do so, anyway, focusing more upon when (or sometimes if) he would get his next meal, or simply gathering his strength to exert himself in carrying heavy loads. The days continued to fly past him, however, though it wasn't helping that there was neither a clock nor a calendar. The sky above was perpetually cloud-covered.

Despite no longer undergoing interrogations, however, Prussia only found disturbance in his newfound anonymity. Likely Russia had desired to punish him by giving him such low-grade work details, but Prussia was concerned as to whether it signaled his lack of use to him. He wasn't a nation anymore, after all, therefore Russia could easily dispose of him. That chilled him to the bone, and, as such, he decided not to think on it.

Such a thought, however, was dashed when he had attempted to escape. As inglorious as it was, Prussia had found an opportunity to slip out during garbage detail. Depositing his last load in the rear of the line, and lingering near the vehicle, he'd slipped between the cab and trailer of the refuse truck, straddling it. Holding his breath, and pressing his sleeve against the side of his face, he'd waited quietly as the motor had rattled beneath him.

Just as the driver's side door had closed, however, a hand seized Prussia's ankle, yanking him out of his hiding place, and into the shadow of a guard, who beat him harshly with the butt of his rifle, all the while screaming abuse at him. After the incident, he found that whenever he took a few steps too far from the other prisoners while on work detail, or walked too close to the boundary of the dormitory, a warning call issued out, or a rifle was lowered.

The day when he was singled out for the last time, however, proved not to be a direct result of his doing.

"Beilschmidt!" Prussia gasped as he was yanked out of line by the arm. The other prisoners stared, but said nothing, turning away, and continuing to wait for the boxcar that was to take them to their required task. The commissar that had grabbed him positively reeked of coffee, and Prussia felt instantly jealous of him for that. He couldn't even remember the last time he had had a drop.

Before he could get a word in edgewise, the commissar declared, "General Braginsky desires your presence." Prussia's throat moved at that, but he found no other choice than to obey as he was led away from the group.

The military truck he was led to looked official enough, in that it was clean and emblazoned with the red star, and the mud fresh on its wheels, as opposed to caked. Despite that, however, Prussia's nails dug into the palms of his hands as he was blindfolded and, much to his surprise, guided into the back of the vehicle, as opposed to being shoved or tossed into it. Boots clomped to the opposite side of the interior of the truck, and the scraping of fabric indicated that someone had sat down.

Prussia leaned his head back against the wall behind him as the truck took off, the lack of sight making the jolts and bounces he felt from the vehicle lurching that much more jarring. The guard (he would have been a fool to suspect otherwise of his fellow rider) was likely armed, and Russia had most likely instructed him to shoot to at least wound, and at most, to maim, as opposed to kill, thus barring any escape attempts. He felt utterly frustrated despite having his hands and feet loose, and resolved against pondering his fate. For all that he knew, it could have been a cruel trick, and Russia had in fact ordered from him to stand in front of a firing squad, but if he was to meet with him, the implications of such a scenario were myriad, and, at this point, beyond him. Any assurances that Ukraine could have given him in the past had been rendered meaningless by the torment he'd endured over the past few years(?), but then again, he had to consider the speaker. Ukraine had told him herself that she had seen horrific losses of her people over two decades, while being covered in earth, no less. Perhaps there was more weight to her words than he had first allotted them, but he was too tired to really think on the matter.

Whether it was to his surprise or to his relief when the blindfold was taken from his eyes, and he found himself to be standing before a towering military headquarters, however, was a subject he let go for the sake of his pride.

Sunflowers lined the left and right sides of Russia's office, with a full color portrait of Russia's boss behind his desk. There was humor in the situation, however, as the sunflowers hailed from the North American continent. Flags from Ukraine, Belarus, Estonia, Latvia, Poland, Lithuania, Hungary, and the other countries within Soviet jurisdiction marked the room. Prussia found his flag to be conspicuously absent upon first glance, but a second found a miniature of his flag within a glass bell jar upon Russia's desk. He scowled at that, but said nothing. Furthering his anger, he saw his own sword mounted on the wall beneath the portrait. Russia's back was to him as he stared out at one of the tall windows looking out upon the streets of Moscow, his coat and scarf respectively pressed and cleaned, and his boots polished. Something covered in a thick canvas sheet lay on the floor in a heap before Russia's desk, and Prussia tensed, hoping that he wouldn't see it move. His fears were put to rest, however, when he smelled an undercurrent of oil, and understood what the object most likely was.

Alongside the smell of oil, however, was something rather putrid. Prussia held his breath against it, and tried to identify what it was among the wood polish and ink, smells that that were so foreign to him against the more recent memories of rotten wood and bodily waste. He let out a breath as he realized, much to his chagrin, that the odor was coming from himself.

Russia turned to face him, and greeted him with that gentle smile that Prussia found so disconcerting. "Good morning. You may sit down." He gestured to a chair before the canvas. Prussia, bracing his hand upon the back, lowered himself onto it, his sore muscles protesting. The softness of the leather felt odd to him, the smell of it filling his nostrils, and reminding him of an era bygone, of soldiers parading and himself standing proudly beside his brother.

"I trust you are well?" Russia asked, greeting him with a smile. "What can I get for you? Coffee? Schlachteplatte? Franzbrötchen? You are my guest this morning." He mangled the pronunciations. To twist the knife further, he sniffed at the air, and wrinkled his nose.

Prussia's stomach growled, but he chose to ignore it. "Nothing, thanks."

Russia shook his head. "No, no, I wasn't clear. This will be a long meeting. You must order something."

"All right," he relented, "I'll take the Franzbrötchen and coffee." He actually wanted the first offered dish, but he didn't want to seem desperate in front of Russia.

Russia nodded his head, and in a tone that best befit cordiality, he responded, "Very good, I will have it brought up for you straight away." Grasping the canvas, he lifted it into the air. Prussia's eyes widened as what appeared to be an aircraft engine, its guts exposed, was revealed to him. A toolbox, the lid shut, stood beside it. "The reason I have called you today is that I know how good you are with mechanics. Assemble this engine in the fastest and most well-put-together way that you know, and we will discuss a new avenue of employment for you."

Rolling up his sleeves, Prussia knelt down before the engine, and felt around its body. Grease and oil coated his fingers as he did so, carefully sketching out the contours of the engine without further disturbing the exposed wiring. He nodded as his fingers brushed upon specific features in the make that marked it as unique yet familiar to him, such as the shaft and rotating hole that indicated a plain bearing, and the lip of an oil slinger within the shaft itself. Completing his assessment, he glanced up at Russia. "The 'sick engine,'" he commented.

Russia smiled. "You wouldn't think me foolish to trust you with my mechanisms right off, would you?" Circling around to sit behind his desk, he sat down, picking up a letter opener. "Let that alone, the advent of the T-34 seemed to have escaped your comprehension, thus I thought I would start you with something much simpler, something you already knew." He chuckled, adding, "I assume it will be a little more difficult for you than navigating garbage trucks. As I have a day of paperwork ahead of me, you may take as much time as you want. As a caveat, I'd recommend you try to do it in the quickest way you can, as you will score better." At that, he said no more, tearing open a letter to read it.

Prussia sucked in a breath through his nostrils, and glanced back at the door. No one would notice them from up here if he did anything now. Glancing back, he nearly jumped when he saw Russia staring right at him, the letter opener held tight in his hand, the blade in an upright position. "Is there something wrong?" He asked in that gentle tone of voice again. Prussia shook his head, and immediately set to work.

The pace was sluggish at first, his lack of sustenance and experience in the last few years slowing him considerably. Upon the scent and arrival of food, however, the pace picked up. He gulped down the coffee, and shoveled the food into his mouth. He didn't care that he'd burned the inside of his mouth and his throat, or that he'd had to pause, gagging from taking too much into his mouth at once; he was fed. He didn't care what Russia thought of him at the moment, and found the engine much easier to work with as he took each point. Within his mind pistons spun, steam rose, nuts and bolts came together, mathematical calculations danced before him, illuminated in all colors at once, and blueprints expanded to wrap about him.

Somewhere within the blueprints, he felt himself come alive again, his memories slowly unfurling like a map, with the glow of sunlight, the coats of arms, the sounds of marching, and the clank of armor and metal springing up before him, and echoing in his ears. He shut his eyes, and shook out his head. No, he couldn't think too far back right now, as tempting as it was. While he didn't care as to what Russia thought of his lack of etiquette at the moment, he didn't want him to get into his head.

XXXXXX

It wasn't for lack of trying, either. The interrogations during the time of his initial imprisonment hadn't been a carnival of gore, though for the humans that had been interrogated within the same block as him, it most likely was, given the blood-curdling screams that had passed through the ventilation system, and the tell-tale brown spots on the walls of the torture chamber. The beatings, while harsh, had been employed for the lowest percentage of time, and were carried out by the human guards, as opposed to by Russia, or by Belarus, ever the Fury.

The projector had been the worst, in that its reels had chronicled the horror shows the Red Army had found, all with the incriminating finger pointed right at him. Belarus, while an intimidating figure within herself, was made all the more menacing with the projector being denoted to her. Having shucked off her military uniform, similarly to her sister, she'd returned to her more typical wardrobe of a dress and bow. The slapping of the soles of her shoes on the floor as they drew closer down the hallway, accompanied by the heavy rolling of the projector's wheels, and dragging of its cord along the floor, had caused him to sweat a few times upon her approach. Prussia hadn't recalled moving to cover his face during the viewing sessions, but nevertheless Belarus's grip had been like a vice on his arm, pinning it to armrest of the chair. "No, you will watch," she'd hissed, her voice shaking with an underpinning of barely-held rage, "Take your hand from your face, you coward! You will watch all of it!"

Perhaps the fact that she never struck him, rather only physically restrained him, was what disturbed him most, especially considering that Prussia had seen blood covering her skin and caked in her hair back in Berlin, when she had stood upon the captured Reichstag, with a knife in her one hand, pointed up, and a submachinegun, slung by its strap across her chest, resting against the palm of the other. The Soviet flag had flapped against the wind a few meters from her, adding to the disquieting atmosphere. Prussia had seen her fleetingly in that pose as he had been dragged by the building, though he had been unable to determine her expression, as her head had been angled away from him.

She would interrogate him about names, mostly names, and sometimes about the institutions of the camps, themselves. Names of men who had been copiously absent from the proceedings of Nuremberg (she tended to tap her knife moodily against her palm as she asked about them), or, more tragically, after the missing, so many names of smaller people that had been lost to the shadows. Institutional questions tended to revolve around where archival information pertaining to the camps could have been stored (or if it was, in fact, lost), or ulterior purposes of the camps, such as the types of labor performed.

Once again, Ukraine's commentary had provided some context as to her sibling's mental state, but it also served as a map into something rather dark and broken. Prussia knew better than to stare into the abyss that surrounded Belarus, as he knew that he would not like what he would find. All of the nations had been broken by the conflict in one way or another, and some, he realized during the unsettling moments when Belarus had met his eye upon entrance to or exit from the chamber, may have irreparably been, though he himself stood solidly in that category alone.

Russia's sessions were more akin to a spinning top in their lack of predictability. The beatings were employed by the humans who had sent in lieu of him. The questions asked were of a more strategic format, pertaining to where escaped or missing officials could be hiding, or where documents could have been left. While Prussia and Germany had previously argued over the issue of selective tunnel vision, the former received the consequences of it in the corporeal form under human hand.

Russia himself, however, despite his carrying of an iron bar that had become iconic in its own way, behaved similarly to Belarus in that he didn't physically harm Prussia. What little compensation that was, really. Prussia's perception was heavily skewed by effects of the room's lighting, sound, and time, causing him to periodically slip from what could be considered consciousness. Opening the ventilation to hear the tortured screams of the other inmates would have been the easy trick, so instead they were sealed, leaving desolate quiet. Prussia had at first considered it to be a game, without Russia physically being there for such sessions. He'd grow bored, and bang the side of his hand against a wall, or thump his foot on the floor in order to provide some background noise, but the echo would distort it to an odd pitch, heightening it to the point where the slightest movement caused his head to throb painfully. Time manipulation was awful in its own way, with him being left to his own devices once more to pace, sit or lay about the room. A clock, unseen to him, would tick, or water would drip, the monotonous sounding making it hard to concentrate. The lights would switch bright, forcing him to shield his eyes as if it was the brightness of day, and marching songs in Russian would play over a loudspeaker, making it difficult to lie down and sleep.

Nevertheless, he would be awoken with, "Oh, you are still here? It's late, you know." Lifting his arm from his face with a groan, Prussia would find Russia standing over him in near pitch black, with an inquisitive look upon his face.

The lighting, speaking of, produced odd effects. Russia seemed particularly fond of the strobe effect, and would play a one-sided game with Prussia by dancing, running, or otherwise moving, about the room while forcing his onlooker, propped against a wall, to watch him, and count something arbitrary, such as the amount of steps he made. Prussia, meanwhile, had placed his efforts into not drifting out of his body, for when he did (which usually happened when he made it about as far as nine or ten), Russia would wake him, and tell him to start again.

Russia's questions tended to be a bit more obtuse. He was especially interested in any dealings between Germany's deceased boss and wealthy moguls whose money had catapulted them into greatness within America's home. Additionally, he was curious as to the placement of scientists, scientists whom, Prussia recalled, he had met personally within Germany's home. Prussia wasn't quite sure as to why the nation was asking him such questions, but then again, ambiguity was one of the elements that comprised Russia's core, so that was no surprise. From what he could conjecture, however, it was clear that the tight rope formed by the tension between Ivan and Alfred's conflicting philosophies had at last snapped.

XXXXXX

Thumping the side of his hand against the metal, Prussia stood up, his body bathed in the late morning light, and his skin and clothing covered in grease. "It's finished," he declared proudly, wiping at his perspiring forehead with the elbow of his sleeve. Russia stood from his desk, and carefully inspected the part, feeling about it (staining his gloves in the process) glancing at it, lifting it up, and turning it over. Prussia watched him silently. Even if he was sent back to the labor camp, at least he had had this diversion.

"Well then," Russia straightened up, and turned to look at him, "let us discuss your assignment to the machine shop, Gilbert." Prussia felt a sense of relief wash over him, despite his outrage at being addressed so intimately. At last, he would be free of the fear of dying in obscurity, at least for the moment. Even if he remained under Russia's thumb, the situation would be preferable; he would be doing something that he was good at.

However, he also knew quite well that he was making a terrible mistake. Russia would not have called him if he had not wanted something from him, but nonetheless Prussia felt that he had no choice. The ghost of his argument with Germany back in the kangaroo court of 1944 haunted the room from his side, but he found it only half applicable. Even if he said no, Russia would say yes for him.

Prussia invitingly cracked a grin at Russia. It slipped, however, when Russia continued, "But first, we will discuss your moving in with me. As you no longer have a home, you will be living with me." He clasped his hands together, and continued on in a happy tone of voice, "A few of the other nations already live with me. We will be a family, yes?" Prussia realized then the full implications of the bell jar on the desk.

* * *

Historical notes:

Daimler-Benz DB 605- This is the engine that Prussia was repairing. He refers to it as the "sick engine" due to the fact that flaws in the engine's design caused it to suffer from several problems. The nickname "sick engine" stuck during World War II as a result.

T-34- One of the keys to Soviet success in World War II. Created in the Soviet Union, it was known as one of the best (if not the absolute best) tanks in World War II.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm afraid that I've mis-characterized Prussia, in that I don't make him act immaturely enough. Considering the circumstances he is in, however, I don't think that him acting immaturely would necessarily work. That being said, I'm not 100% sure on if I'm writing the countries interacting with their people correctly, especially in what I have Prussia say about Germany's boss. Honestly, though, I meant for that to be just agonizing on his part, as I don't know if nations are allowed to kill their bosses in-canon (someone please clarify this for me).

While I have Germany and Prussia present during deportations and executions, I do not have them participating in them, rather they are just privy, and only privy.

I tend to have trouble in describing factory and warehouse settings, thus the architecture of the area is off. I took a few liberties with the architecture of Russia's home, as I've only seen it a couple of times. I'd like to think that the Baltics share the same room because they want to look for one another in case of an emergency.

Also, here's a slight nod to HRE for you.

7/11/16: Changed Hungary's messenger from Romania to Ukraine, considering how strong her rivalry with Romania is, and how Hungary is friends with Ukraine in canon. Romania's role will be altered in the story. Even if Hungary blackmailed Romania, as was the original draft's intent, it still would not have been wise of her, considering the sensitivity of the communication.

* * *

Despite the demand for attention that was so prevalent of himself, Prussia found that more and more often, it seemed, he disliked being stared at.

Standing on the left staircase of the foyer and staring down at him were Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, who stood close together. Estonia's hands were full of papers and a binder, which he held tight to himself, as if he had been in the middle of working on something. Latvia's hand gripped the railing of the stairwell tightly enough for the knuckles to turn white. Oddly enough, he seemed to have aged backwards, being shorter than Prussia had recalled last seeing him. Lithuania's manner of expression was vastly different from what Prussia was used to seeing, that being a range of nervous, happy, or comforting. Rather, the expression he offered him was utterly cold and disapproving.

Once upon a time, Prussia would have run him through for that, but not now. Now he was nothing compared to Russia, and he knew quite well that if he touched even a hair upon Lithuania's head, the consequences for it would be harsh. Three Baltic states, all of which the history Prussia and Germany had had with them being rather unhappy.

Estonia had greeted them with a relieved smile at first, thankful for the ability to move free of Russia. That had soon changed, however, when his people had been dragged away by execution squads. "No wait, please!" He had screamed, running alongside the firearm-bearing guards. They paid him no mind as he pleaded, "Stop! Let them go! What have they done wrong?!" Germany had helped Estonia up after one of the guards had tripped him, causing him to sprawl face first into mud. Prussia had dragged the guard away by the collar, and slammed him up against the trunk of a tree, telling him he had earned his ticket to the front lines. It had been nothing more than throwing a stick at a thunderstorm, however, as the trains still continued to run, including trainloads of those who were "imported" for execution.

Germany's greatcoat had been ripped by Latvia's surprising strength for his size. He had taken several hits to his jaw, fracturing it, before Prussia had yanked Latvia off of him. Covered in the blood of his countrymen who had been shot to death, his uniform askew, his hair, matted with blood to the point where its natural blonde color had disappeared, Latvia kicked and thrashed, dislocating Prussia's knee before being thrown to the ground. Tears falling, and his voice barely recognizable through the amount of drool building in his mouth, he pointed at the two brothers from the ground, and screamed, "Thieves! Murderers! Give me my people back!"

Lithuania hadn't had much a chance to plead his people's case, though at that point, he hadn't much to say, having already been handed over to Russia once, and seen what Poland had endured. The loss of life was extremely fast, making it hard for him to process as neighbors had sold one another out. Leaning against a house, emptied as the collaborators in white armbands led off their former neighbors, their hands bound in a line with rope, Lithuania's eyes had met Prussia's in a glassy stare. Pushing off of the house's wall, he had walked away, his back turned on him.

Prussia gasped as Russia clapped him on the back, sending him forward a few steps. Latvia snorted at that, and Lithuania placed a hand protectively on his shoulder. "Comrades, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to the newest member of our family, Prussia. As he no longer has his own home, I have opened up my own to him." Turning to Prussia, who had a hand on his back from where Russia had hit him, and was panting from the pain, he ordered, "Treat your brothers with respect, as this is their house, too."

Straightening up, Prussia replied, "They aren't my brothers."

With a smile, Russia reached out, and gripped Prussia's upper left and right arms tightly, pinning them to his sides. Prussia gritted his teeth against a cry that was building in his throat as his bones cracked beneath the tight grip. "In my house, they are your brothers. You will be nice to your brothers, yes?"

"Yes," Prussia replied, his voice reduced to a near whisper.

"Good, thank you." Russia released his arms, and patted Prussia's head. Prussia's knees buckled from the contact, and he winced, barely managing to stay upright. Turning to look at the three gathered nations, he indicated Prussia, "Once an enemy to us, he has lain aside his sword, and become not only a friend, but a brother." Raising his arms, he proclaimed, "From the ashes of the past, we will rise as one, and walk, hand in hand, into the sunrise! We will be a happy family!"

Prussia entertained the idea of derailing Russia's pontification by hitting or kicking him, but knew that the action would be ill-advised. The Baltic states sycophantically cheered and clapped for Russia, who, surreally to Prussia's perception, kept his head turned up to the ceiling with a bright grin, his face childlike in his bliss. Prussia's stomach dropped as it dawned on him that Russia, in fact, did believe this to be genuine applause.

Russia turned to him, his grin falling to a contented expression. "You won't be lonely here, Gilbert. This is your home as much as it is mine. I know that you miss Ludwig, but one day he too will be here." Placing his hand on Prussia's shoulder, he indicated the Baltic states with his arm. "In the meantime, however, we will be more than happy to keep you company." The three remained silent until Russia dismissed them, and quickly filed off.

Prussia folded his arms, but said nothing to him. Russia lowered his hand from his shoulder, the silence between them palpable. "Fine," Prussia at last replied through gritted teeth. Closing mouth, he licked his lips, and continued on, "If you want me to be a part of your happy family, then I demand a pen and paper."

Russia shook his head. "You misunderstand me. I cannot deliver a letter to Ludwig for you. My boss will not allow it."

Prussia held up a hand. "I want to write words, any words. I haven't been able to write in so long."

Russia grasped his hand. "Ah yes, I understand now! It would be a nice time for you to learn my language, too! I will bring them to you right away!" He darted forward, yanking Prussia, who hissed from the twinge he felt as his arm was pulled in its socket, after him, and up the stairs. "Now, come and see my home!" Prussia, unable to keep up with his strides, banged his knees on the (thankfully carpeted) stairs, hit his wrist against the banister, and nearly rolled his ankle at the junction between the main stairwell, and the stairwell leading to the left hallway.

Catching up with him on the second floor, Prussia grasped the wall for support as Russia led him along, eagerly chattering about the different collected artworks expressing the spirit of the proletariat that dotted the home, the removal of the formerly baroque atmosphere of the house from the past century, and the amenities of the house, such as its electricity, heat, running water, cooling, and so on. Prussia found himself quickly becoming bored with the quick tour, as most of the rooms tended to hold utilities, meeting halls, or unused beds. It appeared to be more of a place to host a gathering of people, perhaps military or refugee gatherings, than a lavish mansion, which was most likely the intent. "You may cook whatever you like for yourself. The kitchen is always open to you," Russia made sure to comment as he whisked him along the hallway, Prussia's boots skidding on the floor. He stopped suddenly, causing Prussia to skid forward a few steps before he was tugged backward. Reaching inside of an open doorway, Russia flipped on a light switch, and moved aside for Prussia to see that the room contained a vast library with reading desks and a telescope up on a balcony beside a tall window. "It is open to you for your pleasure." Flipping off the lights, Russia took off again, Prussia quick behind him.

Typing sounded from behind a closed door, which most likely held Estonia's office.

Russia paused before a door at a pivot in a hallway, the door before the two being of a dark type of wood, reminiscent of the bark of the trees in the Black Forest. The darkness was broken by a scratch, one that Prussia considered to give the door a characteristic of ruggedness. Russia turned the knob for him, and pushed open the door. "This is your room." He dropped Prussia's hand, and allowed him to enter.

Prussia gasped in surprise as a spot of yellow color drew his view from the windowsill. "Gilbird!" His beloved pet flew into his hands, and he held him close to himself, starting further into the room, the floorboards creaking under his feet.

"My big sister left him for you," Russia commented, "I didn't want to tell you so it could be a surprise."

Prussia turned to look at him, and placed Gilbird upon his head, electing to say nothing. Russia, however, continued to smile at him. "I will bring you your pen and papers." Russia headed down the hall at that, leaving Prussia alone in the room. Prussia, while tempted to try and leave, realized that the effort was futile as a floorboard creaked beneath his next step. His eyes were drawn to the light coming from the window, upon which, he noticed, sat an envelope.

Prussia walked over to it, and picked it, up. He smiled as he saw his name, written in German, on it, and tore open the envelope. Within was a short message:

"He will be safe here."

-Ukraine

What little reassurance that letter gave him, but he could appreciate the gesture, anyway. Prussia was surprised that Russia hadn't ripped open the letter to read it, or forced Ukraine to give it to him. Then again, Ukraine was his sibling, and therefore her voice most likely carried a bit more clout, as evidenced by the appearance of the paska. Still, Russia had to have felt suspicious of her message, especially considering that it was written in German. At the same time, however, considering Russia's previous speech, perhaps he had allowed the message to be passed in order for rapport to built. Nevertheless, the message wasn't one that he felt compelled to take at face value.

Glancing about, he saw that the room was furnished with a bed, a chair and desk with a few books, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, an alarm clock, and a lamp sitting on it, and a small of chest of drawers. A blackout curtain was pulled aside from the window. Moving to the desk, he sat down on the chair, and ran his fingers over the spines of the books for closer inspection. There stood a Sinclair, a couple of Zolas, a Wells, a couple of Londons, and a Gorky. The fact that chosen book from Wells, _The Time Machine_ , stood most prominently among the books felt like a nail in the proverbial coffin. Prussia decided against cracking open the Sinclair anytime soon if he was to gain back the weight he had lost.

Russia's boots thumped back down the hall, and he entered with a contented smile on his face. "Ah, you have made yourself at home already." Depositing a stack of paper and a pen before Prussia, he declared, "It is not a good time to write, though. You want to wash and eat first. Maybe sleep and write tomorrow instead?"

Prussia rose at his prodding. "If I heard you right, I can use the kitchen, library, and bathrooms whenever I want, correct?"

Russia shrugged. "As long as you are not working, and as long as it is within curfew. We all have to sleep here, and this house is very old. Footsteps are easy to hear. I wouldn't want you to wake the others." He gestured toward the chest of drawers. "I have provided you with clean clothes to wear. They might sag on you for now, but I think you'll be able to grow back into them."

Walking over to the middle drawer, he tugged it open. Prussia stood, and walked over to stand beside him, glancing into it. The middle drawer held a dark blue coverall on the left, with a white lab coat on the right. "This is for the machine shop. You will be in charge of cleaning and repairing your uniform, and there will be a replacement available for you there." He gestured at Prussia's feet. "The worn jackboots you have won't be heavy enough for the factory floor. Boots will be provided for you there, but they are to be left on the factory floor." He shut the drawer, and opened the lowest drawer. Prussia's eyes widened as a handsome gray uniform with black gloves, a gray winter overcoat, and a matching hat with a red star upon it was displayed to him. A brown belt wound about the jacket, and a silver aiguillette hung off the right shoulder. A new pair of black jackboots, complete with a white cloth and a can of boot polish, lay on their side in the drawer. The styling, while militaristic, hailed more from the Russian interpretation than the German, but nonetheless bore a distinct difference from that of the commissars. "For formal occasions," Russia explained, "you will represent the new Germany within our jurisdiction." Prussia felt a bad taste in his mouth as Russia shut the drawer. "You may look in the top drawer if you want. Inside is only casual clothing, nightclothes, a pair of shoes, and undergarments. Feel free to dipose of those clothes you're wearing now after you clean yourself." Tugging it open, and finding his words to be true, Prussia immediately shut it.

Russia brought his hands together. "Now then, I will leave you for tonight. Be in the foyer no later than five to be taken to your work detail. Remember, curfew for tonight is at ten."

Prussia nodded his head, and Russia departed, wishing for him to sleep well. Prussia wondered as to what would happen, if he had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, but figured that most likely the curfew applied to him only for the time being, considering how low he was on the totem pole in this house. Nevertheless, he rolled out his shoulders, and found that he was looking forward to feeling the relaxing sensation of hot water upon his back, and to cook and eat food that he knew.

Tugging some of the nightclothes out of the top drawer, he left the room to clean himself up. He wasn't keen on making himself completely vulnerable under Russia's roof, but he hadn't a choice. He had to wash and sleep, though he figured that he wouldn't be doing very much of the latter. Prussia took care to keep his eyes open as often as he could in the shower, even though it caused them to burn. His ribs stuck out prominently, and the sight sickened him. He was more than happy to toss his old outfit in the garbage can, and the boots were a wreck. Moving barefoot through the house would give him a bit of an advantage in stealth, as well.

Running his hand along the banister as he descended into the foyer, the kitchen and dining room being located on that floor, Prussia heard the sound of clock's ticking echoing from a side hallway. The house creaked heavily, and he heard a distant voice, possibly Lithuania's, murmuring from somewhere past the corridor he had just exited. Turning, Prussia glanced up at the stained glass window that adorned the foyer, depicting a man of the working class, clad in a white shirt and suspender pants, towering above a broken wall, and raising a massive hammer in jubilation. Prussia wondered what the stained glass had looked like during the era of the czars. A creak that sounded oddly like a footstep ended his train of thought, and he continued down the stairs with a sense of unease. He would have to be careful in relying on his peripheral vision during the duration of his stay under duress.

The clock chimed in a low octave eight times.

The cupboards of the kitchen appeared to have been stocked for an army, and were labeled as such, revealing to Prussia, at last, why there were so many unused bedrooms in Russia's home. Dicing veal on a cutting board, a pot of potatoes boiling on the stove, Prussia found it odd that he was allowed such easy access to the cutlery. Furthermore, it amazed him that he was actually making his own food, after having nothing but bread, water, Ukraine's gift, and the gruel that had been given to him in the labor camp. In the closing years of the Second World War, he'd subsisted almost completely on iron rations and alcohol.

He supposed that Russia displayed a kinder side in his kitchen, in that much of his food supply was delegated for storage in case Soviet soldiers or civilians needed shelter. Still, that wasn't exactly a new trend among the nations, in that they often took in and sheltered their people during times of siege. On the other hand, however, Russia had had to contend with antagonists such as (but not limited to) Mongolia, Prussia himself, and his tentative ally, General Winter, therefore he most likely prepared rather extensively.

As he gathered his food onto a plate and sat down, Prussia wished that he'd had a glass of beer to go with it. He'd decided against trying his luck with the brew Russia had. Even if it didn't knock him out of his chair right off, he wasn't keen on becoming intoxicated in an area he didn't know very well. He wasn't sure if Russia had spiked the alcohol, though the possibility wasn't very strong, considering he needed him to work the next day.

Glancing out the window, Prussia watched the snowflakes fall. Over the crest of hills that most likely were scenic in the light of day shone bright orange and white industrial lights. He lowered his fork to the plate, and placed his hand to his stomach, feeling nauseous. He realized too late that he had been eating too quickly, the reduced size of his stomach not being able to cope with the intake of food. After it passed, he felt loneliness fall over him as he stared at the backs of the chairs. For as often as he had pontificated that he was happy to be alone, he found that it wasn't what he had wanted. He wondered how Germany was doing, and hoped that he was all right.

Prussia gripped the pen tightly in annoyance upon seeing the mal-formed letters he had made on the page. He scratched roughly at his head, and tried not to grip the pen too tightly out of frustration, lest he break it. He wasn't sure if Russia would give him another one if he did. Reaching over, he patted Gilbird's head to calm himself down. It was understandable that his skills would have waned, considering that he had been away from writing for so long. Drawing a line through the letters, he started over, placing his foot upon the bottom rung of the proverbial ladder by practicing his penmanship despite his frustration. He was awesome, and therefore, it should have been easy for him to pick it back up. Nevertheless, he made sure to draft a few lines.

Shutting off the lamp, Prussia scanned the room, and listened to the house groan and creak. Wind whistled against the shut window, and weak moonlight streamed into the room, leaving the pattern of the window's cross planks on the floor. He stood, and headed over to the chest of drawers, bracing his shoulder behind it. Grunting, he pushed the hutch slowly, stopping to rotate it slowly. Drawing the lock on the door, he moved the hutch before it, turning it into a functional barricade.

He picked up the alarm clock from the desk, and began to wind it. He would have to wake up earlier in order to move his barricade, but that was all right. As he set the clock back upon his desk, however, heavy footfalls sounded down the corridor. Prussia's heartbeat quickened with them, his hand fastening upon the back of the chair. Paper rustled as Gilbird disturbed them on the desk by walking and hopping about. Prussia's eyes were drawn to his pet for a short moment as the footsteps drew closer.

Three sharp raps sounded upon the door. "Prussia?"

Squeezing the back of the chair, he inquired in a steady tone, "Yeah?"

"Please put back your furniture," Russia commanded in a light tone, as if he was a parent admonishing a naughty child.

Prussia paused before answering, "All right."

Russia didn't move, however, until Prussia began to drag away the hutch. Bidding him good night once more, he headed off down the hall. Prussia was glad that Russia didn't make him unlock the door, but even still, he knew very well that Russia could kick it open, if prompted. Heading over to the window, he dropped the blackout shade over it.

XXXXXX

Hungary greeted him with a quick wave. She set down her wrench and climbed from the platform she had been standing upon, the machines running above her, and steam pouring into the air. Her head was covered with a white hard hat, upon which she raised her safety goggles. Her hair, sticking out from her helmet, was tied up in a ponytail with a purple band. Her coverall was forest green, and bore her nation's flag over the left breast. Her right cheek bore a grease stain. A relieved smile was on her face as she said, "Glad to see you're still alive."

Prussia grinned at her, pulling arms out from the sleeves of his lab coat to wear it over his shoulders like a cape. His goggles rested on top of his helmet, as well, revealing the bags under his eyes from the previous night. "Feel like shit, though. Probably look like it, too."

Hungary laughed. "That makes two of us."

Prussia smirked. "You walked into that one, crapwad."

She folded her arms. "Glad to see you haven't changed in the past three years, as well." The smile fell from her face as she added, "You keep up your mask as always."

Prussia swept to the side at that, throwing over his shoulder, "Don't you have work to do?"

"Gilbert, enough," Hungary responded in annoyance, striding to catch up with him, "You practically fell off the face of the earth for the last few years."

"This isn't exactly the best place to discuss that," Prussia replied, looking around, "besides I didn't 'fall off the face of the earth.' I was in a labor camp."

"That's what we were afraid of," Hungary replied, and he turned his head at that. Her hand was to her forehead as she continued, "Dear God, you're lucky to be alive."

"We?" Prussia questioned, and Hungary lowered her hand at that, glancing over her shoulder.

"You're right, this isn't the correct place or time to discuss this," she muttered after assessing her surroundings. Turning back to look at him, she explained, "We'll talk later. Just keep an eye out; there's a ghost here."

Prussia blinked at that, and asked blankly, "…What?" Hungary, however, had already turned and walked away, lowering her goggles back to her face. Before he could react any further to her words, his surname was called by a guard, who led him off to another area, away from the chaos of workers passing by, and the machines moving and humming against the walls. A flicker of movement from one of the tall machines caught Prussia's eye, but he wasn't quite sure whether it was just the machine itself grinding, or something else. Nevertheless, he kept Hungary's warning in mind.

"Colonel Beilschmidt," greeted one of the scientists in surprise as Prussia was led into a room filled with thick books, charts, and diagrams. A quick scan of the room found it to be filled with scientists, some of whom he had previously met alongside his brother. "Beg your pardon, but we heard that you were dead."

Prussia grinned at that, and shook his head. "Not quite. You can drop the moniker; the war has been over for three years, or so I have been told."

"Well then, it would seem that our newest assistant has arrived," commented another, whose surname Prussia recalled to be Riehl, his voice holding a sense of tired disappointment to it, "Frankly, I was expecting a more mechanically-inclined mind, though an assembler would be just as well, I suppose."

Prussia wasn't moved by the insult. "Is there a problem, Doctor Riehl?"

Riehl looked up at him, his pencil stopping, "To put it quite simply, we do not need another military man about. We are surrounded by more than our share already."

Prussia raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, really?" He knew he should shut his mouth, as whatever help he could provide would likely only assist Russia, but his arrogance got the better of him. Moving past the other scientists, who had since returned to their work, disinterested in the dialogue, Prussia placed his hands upon the table, and glanced at the complicated diagram. His eyes darted about its surface, and he nodded his head. "Uranium production, I see." His fingers tapped upon the page. "Much like one of the 'dirty bombs.'"

"More like one of the atomic bombs dropped over Japan," he replied, drawing the page out from beneath him, "Nevertheless, I was mistaken."

"Oh, not quite," Prussia answered with a smirk, "I'm an engineer, rather than a scientist. I'll be your assembler, but don't think me a fool." Riehl's eyes narrowed at him as he continued on past the scientists into the main chamber, within which stood the engineers and technicians who were currently in the process of building the prototype devices. A guard closed a heavy vault door behind Prussia, who lowered his goggles to his face, muttering, "Alfred, what have you done?"

XXXXXX

"A ghost?" Prussia asked, dropping his tray before Hungary in the cafeteria. "Trying to make me paranoid?"

Hungary shrugged before spearing her food with her fork. "Just giving you something to chew on. Have you figured it out, yet?" Her helmet lay beside her on the table, her bare head revealing a few purple hair clips, her hair sticking out from them in tufts.

Prussia smirked, and placed one hand to his coverall, exposed once more by his already rooting habit of slinging his lab coat over his shoulders. "The awesome me? Certainly, I have!"

Hungary smiled smugly, her fork paused near her mouth. "Then, what's the answer?"

Prussia drew a blank. "Uh…." He looked down, busying himself with his food.

"I'm waiting," Hungary added.

Stuffing his mouth with food, Prussia replied, "I haven't had much to eat. Give me time."

Hungary's smile broadened, "Sure, go ahead. I'll be right here."

Realizing his tactic wasn't going to work, he swallowed, wincing at the sensation of the food, not quite chewed all the way through, going down his throat. "All right, what is it?"

Smiling knowingly, she replied, "Not an 'it.' A she."

Prussia lowered his voice. "Ukraine."

She nodded, setting it back down. "If there's any indication that she's been found out, I haven't heard it."

At Prussia's questioning glance, she asked, "What do you know about since you've gotten here?" As he helped himself to more food, she commented, "It's obvious they hadn't fed you very well."

Prussia set his fork down. "That's changing, but it's tentative. Apparently Russia thought it was a good idea to make a housemate out of me."

Her eyes widened at that. "You don't have to stay here. Germany's land has been divided into militarized zones, but you could easily slip through. Maybe Ukraine—"

"You think I haven't entertained the possibility?" Prussia cut her off, "While I was in the labor camp, I tried escaping, and was caught. I live in a gilded cage in Russia's house as it is, and it's clear to me that if I'm caught again, he'll gladly throw me in the gulag. Besides, I don't see you running away."

"I had no choice," Hungary hissed in response, bringing her fist down on the table's surface for emphasis, "My nation's economy was in shambles, and I needed to build it back up again with my own two hands. Don't you think that I had wanted to save Roderich when the Vienna Offensive occurred?" Fire burned in her eyes. "I was bleeding, on the ground, with a Czechoslovak's boot in my neck. He'd thought that I was just some civilian in a stolen Hungarian soldier's uniform. He'd been dreadfully wrong that day." She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork for emphasis. "Propped against a wall and trying to catch my breath, I saw your brother, and he told me what he had done to you in the name of your Fürher." She broke off, and shook her head, adding as an aside, "Your brother, Gilbert, I swear, he is as stubborn as you." She placed a hand to heart. "I could feel it, my people were dying, just as they had in the extermination camps, and by the bullet of the gun. I couldn't leave them, but I knew what was to come. I didn't want Roderich to feel what I did."

She broke off with a sad smile. "I shouldn't have worried when Germany took Austria away, back in 1938. In a way, he married us again, in 1940, but I can't say we felt happiness together. Roderich told me that he'd made a horrible mistake, in allowing Germany to take him so easily." She ran a hand over her hair clips. "Did you know that whole families were torn apart, husbands from wives, parents from children, generation from generation? Not even their pets were safe." She held up her hand to stop his answer. "You did, and you and your generals paid for it. I would rather not have seen Roderich again, if it had meant that my people would have been spared. Why should we have been allowed to be together, when so many had been torn apart?"

Her gaze became distant once more. "But Ludwig, he transformed before me. Covered in dirt, blood, and gunpowder, he had at first appeared a hulk of a man, a monster, if you will, of the fairy tales that were woven when you and I were children. As I stared at him on that desolate street, however, bodies lying about us, and buildings having crumbled to dust, I saw his exhaustion, and his fear. I saw a remorseful child where a man should have stood. He'd offered me his hand, but I had refused it. He'd brought enough on us, I had thought, even though I had known at the time that it hadn't been him." She smirked at Prussia. "So, how long have you known about Italy and him?"

Prussia grinned. "He thinks he hides it so well from me. I've known it since 1939."

"You know, then, what he did for him, don't you?" Hungary asked, a slight edge to her voice.

Prussia nodded. "He told me directly after the court martial, but," he paused to rub at his temples, "I don't think he told me the entire story."

"What do you mean?" Hungary asked.

"What I mean is, I think he was caught," Prussia replied, the pain clear to hear in his voice, and his eyes averted from her. Returning his gaze to her, he explained, "It was difficult during the war to smuggle out one human being. Ludwig had smuggled out a nation, maybe two, if he had arranged for Romano's safety as well. Knowing how attached Italy is to his brother, that's probably what happened. Just imagining how strategic Germany had to be, and how many strings he'd had pull for that to occur, would have been beyond my comprehension, had I not the seen combat in the Napoleonic Wars, and kicked your boyfriend's ass in the war of Austrian Succession before you had to come save it." Hungary smirked at that.

"It goes without saying that our bodies heal fast, or at least yours does more than mine now." Pushing his tray aside, Prussia folded his arms. "At the court martial, Germany apologized to me for not trying to smuggle me out. I eventually managed to save him at the tail end of the war through sheer luck. His boss was disgusted with me at that point. Despite me being under house arrest, I was able to keep my ear pressed more to the floor than Germany. I got a tip that General Wenck was going to defy Germany's boss and leave, and I'd managed to grab one of his messengers just before that happened. Had it been even a few months prior, that wouldn't have ended well."

"So, you are saying, then, that he was caught by the Gestapo?" Hungary asked, a note of shock in her voice.

Prussia looked away from her again. "Caught, interrogated, and tortured, most likely. His boss had to have been furious with him, but yet he had to let him live. Had he been human, he would've been killed."

"And so, he stayed devoted to the boss that was slowly killing him," she deduced with a shake of her head, "That stubbornness again. He had everything to lose, though. That was what I screamed at him about that day on the street, that he'd only cared for himself, and had allowed the rest of us to suffer. I hadn't wanted his help; I wanted his boss dead." Leaning forward, she ran her hand through her hair. "He'd pointed his Luger at me for saying that, and I told him to fire. I was tired of living under the yoke, and of hearing my people scream. I saw my land, centuries of my history and culture, being crushed to dust right before my eyes, and yet here he stood before me, offering his hand as if we were friends."

Silence passed between them, and Prussia at last replied, "But he was soft."

"'Weak,' he called it," she answered, "He left me on that street without looking back. The rest, they say, is history." Hungary sighed. "We fell that February, and I couldn't turn my back on my people again, so instead, I turned my back on Austria. Ukraine took her vengeance upon him." She looked down at her hands. "I told myself that it was the right thing to stay as I bore food and water, and tended to wounded. It was, but it didn't make it any easier to live with. Before we could even have gotten back on our feet, Austria's land had been divided among the Allies, and I had become a satellite state of the Soviet Union. If anything, she probably feels guilty over what she was responsible for."

Prussia glanced at his tray. Despite his hunger, he didn't feel as if he wanted to eat another bite. All he could see was his brother pointing his pistol at her. "I hadn't known. Ludwig never told me," he answered, anger clear to hear in his voice.

"Would it have really helped if he did?" Hungary asked. "Your relationship was bad enough at that point as was. It would only have made it worse."

"So now I hear it from you at a cafeteria in a munitions plant that is building weapons for the next world war?" Prussia hissed, "A war I will probably die in because of the sins of his boss? Do you know how many times I'd wanted to shoot him in the head myself? I didn't care who would have taken his place, I just wanted him to stop hurting Ludwig! But of course, I couldn't. Ludwig had disarmed me in July of 1944, and he'd been careful not to let me get a firearm. I had my parade sword with me, of course, but it was useless in comparison to a gun." His fist clenched on the table. "He had to have been tortured. He'd known what would have happened to me, had I tried, and he'd protected me, the selfish bastard. The war could have ended sooner."

"Gilbert," Hungary got up to sit next to him, "You have to calm down. We can't draw too much attention to ourselves."

He released his hand at that, and Hungary placed her hand on his back. "It's my fault," he muttered, "It's that stupid oath I made all those years ago. I promised myself to him as a protector, not imagining that it would lead to this. But what could I have said? He was terrified, and covered in blood when I had first found him. I needed him to know that I was on his side."

Hungary was quiet for a few moments, and then she asked, "Will he ever remember?"

"Do you think I didn't try to help him remember?" Prussia growled. She lowered her hand at that, but didn't move. "What does it even matter now? It's just another skeleton at the feast. I wasn't cut out for parenting, and you and Austria knew that as well as me, but after losing Old Fritz…" He sighed. "The years I took care of Ludwig were the hardest, but nonetheless the happiest of my life. If I was still a Christian, I'd call it my penance that I am slowly dying now for my mistakes."

The cafeteria clattered around them, the humans moving about in their day to day concerns. Prussia inquired, "What does your ghost do for you, Hungary?"

"She lets me speak with Austria again," she replied. Rising, she moved back to sit before her tray again. "It pays to keep friends close here, but nonetheless I am little concerned, since she is still Russia's sister."

Prussia smirked at her. "Couldn't go a day without hearing from your sweetheart?"

Hungary returned it, but it slipped. "It hasn't been easy for him, either, in this day and age." Cracking her knuckles, she commented, "You know, one of my favorite gifts from the Silk Road was an ivory chess set that India had made. The craftsmanship was elegant, and the paint on it was glossy. When Italy still lived with Austria and me, I used to play with him after his chores were finished." Prussia simply stared, thrown by the change of subject. Hungary continued, "At the end of one game, however, Italy told me something that one of his thinkers had said to him: 'At the end of the game, the king and the pawn go back in the same box.'"

* * *

Historical notes:

The formal uniform that Russia gives to Prussia is based on a few samples of East German uniforms I managed to dig up in my research, the jacket specifically being from a Guard Regiment F. Engels Uniform Jacket. This is where the timeline breaks off the rails, as this uniform most likely did not exist in 1948.

The dish that Prussia is making for himself in this is a Königsberger Klopse, a Prussian specialty. I did not go into very much detail at all to keep the sequence brief.

The authors of the books on Prussia's desk are, in order: Upton Sinclair, Émile Zola, Herbert George Wells, Jack London, and Maxim Gorky (also spelled as Gorki). Sinclair's, Wells's, Gorky's, and London's books were burned by the Nazis. Zola was sympathetic to socialist views. The book by Sinclair that Prussia refuses to read is _The Jungle_ , which described the horrendous conditions workers faced in a meat packing plant.

Lithuania lost 95-97% of its Jewish population during the Holocaust, due in part to collaboration that allowed for Jews as well as Romani to be easily rooted out. While 75% of Estonian Jews managed to get of the country, and flee into the Soviet Union, of the 1000 who were unable, only about a dozen survived. Estonia itself, similarly to Poland, unfortunately had concentration camps built upon its land. Latvia saw many massacres of its Jewish population in 1941. I haven't even touched on the other killings that were based upon political or ethnic reasons (save the Romani), but I don't want this to turn into an author tract.

Iron rations (if full): 300 grams of hard crackers, 200 grams of preserved meat, 150 grams of preserved or dehydrated vegetables or pea sausage, 25 grams of artificial substitute coffee, and 25 grams of salt

Dr. Nikolaus Riehl was a German industrial physicist that was invited to the Soviet Union to work on the Soviet atomic bomb project near the end of World War II. He stayed for ten years in the Soviet Union, and won multiple prizes for his work while there.

The saying Italy relates to Hungary is an Italian proverb.


	4. Chapter 4

Historical notes are at the bottom. Plot-related notes are up top.

I wanted to include Belarus and Romania (the former more so) in this chapter, but it was too long as was. She will definitely feature in the next chapter. As for Romania, I changed the previous chapter so that it is Ukraine, as opposed to Romania, who is discreetly carrying messages for Hungary due to Hungary having a strained relationship with Romania.

I need to work on characterizing the Baltic states better. Due to the cast of this story effectively being an ensemble, it is difficult to keep everyone's voice intact. I hadn't expected this story (which I had originally planned as a one-shot) to expand like this. Next chapter will detail the foundation of East Germany (German Democratic Republic) in 1949 from Prussia's point-of-view.

* * *

"Now, where are you?" Prussia muttered, running his index finger over the spines of the books in the section marked "T." Soundlessly, his lips repeatedly formed the word, "Leon." He figured that it was unlikely that he would find the words by the individual within Russia's library, given who his boss was, but then again, Russia did love his people very much. Surely such an influential figure would have a place of honor in Russia's home.

A chill ran up his spine as his quarry came up empty for the third time, though it wasn't as if the books had been conspicuously removed, leaving a blank space, or an unsettling of dust. Rather, there was nothing to suggest the fact that such works had been carried at all. Prussia was unsure of the section of the library that carried books only in Cyrillic script, and wondered if perusing that section would have a different result. Nevertheless, the complete vanishing of an individual wasn't something new, rather it was a typical procedure employed by Germany's boss and his underlings, as well. Prussia wondered if Germany felt anything when books by his beloved sons, such as Kafka or Remarque, were burned, but once again, Prussia knew he had no leg to stand on. After all, the Teutonic Knights certainly had no qualms with destroying anything of a religion that was not their own.

"You won't find what you're looking for." Prussia turned on his heel, bending his knee and drawing back his hand to see Lithuania slipping around the side of the bookshelf to stop before him, a book held against his side.

Prussia rose to full height, his hand relaxing back against his side. "For a moment I thought you were a threat, Toris. I must be slipping."

Lithuania, rather than becoming perturbed, replied simply, "I would say the same thing about you."

Prussia's shoulders rose at that. He felt compelled to grasp the thickest volume he could on the shelf, and lob it at Lithuania, all the while yelling at him not to underestimate the awesome Prussia. What stayed his hand, however, was Lithuania's previous comment. "What did you think I was looking for? I don't see how it's any of your business."

Lithuania shrugged. "You are looking for someone who has disappeared. Although," he swung up the book to hold it to his chest, "in my experience, no one really 'disappears,' rather those who supposedly do wish that they actually had."

Prussia scowled at him. "Don't threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you."

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Stopped to give me a little warning, then? Or will you run to Russia and tell him that I've been a bad boy again?" Lithuania's lack of reaction only served to perturb him further. Prussia entertained the notion of grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

"No, actually, I just need to put this back," he replied simply, heading over to the adjacent shelf, and running his hand over the book spines.

Prussia bit his lip, his fists clenching, and growled low in his throat. Lithuania kept his back to him, his hand searching slowly for a gap in the book spines. Unable to take it anymore, he hissed, "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Lithuania, however, kept his back to him. "Why should I? You never afforded me that respect."

"You didn't deserve it," Prussia retorted, "You were weak. Why should I have given you that respect when I beat you?"

Lithuania turned at that. "How the mighty have fallen, then, Gilbert. You can threaten me all you want, but you are nothing more than a paper tiger here." Prussia's jaw dropped at that, and Lithuania continued on, "I can tell you what your problem is: your arrogance. You're so used to getting your way that it confounds you when you do not."

"I didn't 'get my way,' I earned it!" Prussia exclaimed, pointing at him, "The strong survived in our old world! You just couldn't keep up!"

Lithuania, not to be moved, replied, "But that old world is gone, Prussia. What does that say about you, then?"

Prussia shook his head. "Don't think that brute force is a thing of the past, Toris."

Lithuania's eyes narrowed. "No, of course not. It's just that your specific version of brute force is. Nevertheless, however, you're proving your use otherwise."

"Don't you even think of—"

"Insulting you?" He shook his head. "It's not worth my time. However, I'd rather not have any other forms of tension to deal with in this house at present. It doesn't do Estonia or Latvia well, and it certainly doesn't do me well, either."

"So you bend at the knee for Russia, then, just to keep some form of peace for yourself?" Prussia demanded, "Grow a spine, why don't you? At least you fought back against me."

"I'd rather not have my boss's chain of command mangled yet again, thank you," he answered simply, "Speaking of, has Ivan allowed you to see your people?"

Prussia snorted. "No, of course he hasn't, since they're not really my people any more, the ones who are still alive, that is. They're scattered again."

"Can you still feel them, though?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Prussia scowled at him. "That isn't any of your business. You can accuse me of brutality all you want, but at least I don't pry into your personal affairs."

"No, you merely hacked into them with your blade," Lithuania replied pointedly. Placing his hands in the pockets of his coat, Prussia started toward him. Lithuania turned and began to walk away from him, throwing over his shoulder, "What do you intend to do? Shove me against the shelf? Throw a book at me? Kick me?" He turned back to look at him. "Nothing you do can scare me anymore. You're as much a prisoner in this house as I am, if not more so."

Prussia drew his hand out of his coat, and swung it at him, the back of it facing his adversary. Lithuania, however, caught his wrist, and clenched his hand around it. Prussia gasped at the pain, his bodily mass having not yet recovered from the previous years. Through gritted teeth, Lithuania questioned, "You've forgotten so much, haven't you, Gilbert? You'd grown so used to commanding others that you'd forgotten what it was like to be led by another."

"I haven't!" He snapped, yanking his wrist backward. Lithuania let go, effectively causing Prussia to stagger a few steps back from the recoil. He splayed out his other hand behind himself to keep from hitting his back off the shelf. "The humiliation I've had to endure—"

"Is nothing in comparison to what any of us in this house have," Lithuania cut him off.

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Do you want a medal?"

Lithuania blinked at that. "Frankly, I'd ask you the same question. Of all nations, I wouldn't peg you to be the one to play yourself as the victim."

"I'm not a nation," Prussia hissed, "You can accuse me of playing the victim as much as you want, but you still have something that I don't. There, you've won. You don't need to gloat over it."

"Neither have you needed to, in the past," he replied shortly.

Prussia smirked. "I'm a warrior. It's in my nature. You are not."

"It seems as if you've died by the sword, then," he observed. Prussia said nothing on the matter, resolving to allow for Lithuania to think as he did, in his poetic ironies. The truth of it, his being chained up and kept in a bunker, was much too humiliating, especially if he allowed Lithuania to hear of it.

"I'm not dead yet," Prussia responded defensively, "You'll do well to remember that."

"Russia certainly has," Lithuania muttered.

Prussia raised an eyebrow at that. "What was that?"

Lithuania shrugged. "I'm stating the obvious. You're still alive, and Russia will get his use out of you soon enough. It isn't so much killing someone that is his goal. You heard that in the foyer. When someone outright hates you, it is difficult, but at least the threat is there. When someone loves you, however, that is different. It is more dangerous that way."

Prussia thought of Germany's pistol in his back, and of his flag under Russia's bell jar. "Which is what makes you so weak. You let others get close to you, and you bleed for them. Perhaps if you actually learned to stand on your own two feet for once, then you would actually have become strong." He shook his head. "But far be it from me to give you sound advice that you would follow." He turned and started away. "It's better not to associate with others, anyway," he ran a hand over his neck, "They never keep their promises. If you had been strong enough, you wouldn't have needed others to prop you up, but you had needed Poland for that, hadn't you?"

"Where is your Kingdom of Prussia, Gilbert?" Lithuania inquired, the edge to his voice indicating that Prussia had struck a nerve.

"It's better that it had died, than to have remained as a shadow of itself," Prussia hissed in response, leaving him alone.

XXXXXX

Despite the size of the home, however, Prussia saw the others more often than he had desired. Russia had given him his first night free, but from then on, he'd had to join the "family" for dinner. It wasn't much of a pleasant affair at all, to say the very least. He noted, however, that on nights when human guests arrived, Russia would order the nations away, though in much nicer terms, saying that they could eat wherever they pleased. Prussia, naturally, found these nights to be a relief, as he tended to take his plate upstairs, sit on the bed, and eat without having to share a table with the other nations. He was careful not to sit as his desk, due to the creaking the floorboards allowed.

He'd gained some weight back, though being on his feet at the factory week after week slowed that down. Nevertheless, Prussia didn't expect much of a heavy change in himself, considering that his build was wiry. Still, it was nice to run a hand over his chest, and not feel his ribs sticking out.

 _The Call of the Wild_ lay open on his bed. Prussia found it to be mildly entertaining, and tended to annotate in it. His annotations, more often than not, tended to be doodles of himself riding on the back of a wolf, wielding a sword, or both. He also wrote several jokes in reference to the idiocy of the characters Hal, Charles, and Mercedes. Considering the situation Prussia himself was in, however, he knew that Russia hadn't just handed him the book for fun. If Prussia was Buck in this situation, he didn't intend for himself to be tamed, or rather, to allow this new environment to change him. He took back that second thought. If he was to change, then he would become the alpha of this pack, not Russia.

The voices of Russia's guests were most likely those of political dignitaries, or military officers. As to the content of their conversations, Prussia couldn't be entirely sure due to distance distortion. His grasp on Russian was stronger than it had been, but it wasn't strong enough to completely determine all that was being said. Resting the back of his head against the wall, Prussia felt Gilbird crossing his shoulders, and shuddered as his pet inadvertently tickled him with his movements. He didn't allow Gilbird to fly outside at night, as he wasn't sure whether his pet would return to him. While Ukraine had, in her message, told him that Gilbird would be safe "here," though he wasn't sure as to whether "here" was his room, Russia's home in general, or the grounds of the home. He wasn't intending to take any chances, even though it did cause Gilbird to leave droppings on the floor for him to clean up, and nip at his ears, hair, and clothing in annoyance.

His eyes widened, and his fists clenched as certain words, those being "Prussia" or "Germany" were passed. He'd taken care to learn those right off, and, much to his disturbance, he found that those words were being passed more and more often these nights. His conversation with Lithuania in the library haunted him. Prussia let out a strained breath, and shut his eyes. What was to become of him, or for that matter, of his people? He couldn't feel them anymore, and more than anything, he wished to. Even if it meant more pain, it would be all right; he could take it all, if it meant he could feel it all. Happiness, jubilation, triumph, fear, sorrow, loss, anger, even the hatred, and so much more had been stripped from him, leaving an emptiness inside of him. Was this what it felt, to be a human? So isolated, so alone, and so out of touch with the feelings of others? Once again, he had welcomed solitude, but as to what it had entailed, he hadn't been completely sure. Was this why humans reached out for one another? Was this why humanity had pondered its existence, and tried to determine a reason for it all?

…Did it even matter?

There wasn't room to dwell on sentiment. He'd learned that the hard way when Grandpa Germania had died. The young Prussia's reaction was to throw a massive temper tantrum, demanding that Germania be brought back. However, all that the tiny knight had accomplished by railing at the stars, even going so far as to shoot arrows and lob acorns at them, was to realize that nothing had been accomplished. As he recalled, his penance for that act of demanding God to return his grandfather to him had been rather long. Looking back on it now, he saw how stupid it all was. Of course Germania wasn't coming back, and it wasn't anything worth crying over. Empires fell, it was a fact of a long life. Still, it didn't mean it didn't hurt to lose him, and not just him, at that. Prussia quirked a small smile at the thought that Germany would inherit it all in the end, what little was left of it.

The telescope in the library was a frustrating instrument. It wasn't that Prussia was incapable of operating it, but he saw little use for it. Once upon a time, humanity mapped the stars and planets, and attached meanings and tales to them, when really, the most they did was signify the changing of the seasons. Prussia hated looking through it, as it made him remember that he was now just a small man in comparison to the cosmos. He wouldn't admit that he was scared, but it was rather unnerving. As such, he tended not to use it.

The nights where the nations were gathered together for dinner, however, were rather difficult to endure. It was a pity that they occurred so often. Typically, the dinner only featured the party of five, with Russia sitting at the head of the table. Prussia tended to sit alone on his side, with the Baltic states taking the opposite side of the table together, unless directed otherwise by Russia. When the latter occurred, the nations tried their best to keep personal space between each other, pulling in their arms close, or edging cutlery and plates closer to themselves. Still, there were times when Latvia nudged Prussia, causing him to drop his silverware. Prussia would retaliate in kind by hooking his ankle under Latvia's chair, and leaving him scrabbling for a hold on the table. Estonia, meanwhile, once placed several of his papers close to Prussia, and kept inching them toward him, removing the amount of room he had had. Prussia had then "accidentally" knocked over Estonia's drink, which ultimately put a stop to that.

Conversation at the table was a nuisance. Russia would inquire after the progress of the week, with Estonia bringing forth his papers and testimony, measuring out the economic output of his land, and pointing here and there over different figures in order to better emphasize his point. Russia would take a few cursory glances over them, thumbing past the charts and figures at first, before snapping the presented pamphlet shut. Estonia would then sigh, the sighs being one of two types. The first type would be one of relief, with Estonia slowly resting his back against his chair, and agreeing, "We still manage to the best of our ability, Ivan. It's one of our strengths." Russia refill Estonia's glass with the pitcher of water. The second type, however, featured Estonia reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a pen to underline certain sections of his paper in order to emphasize reasons as to why the quota wasn't being met. Both sighs were accompanied by a thin smile, though while not placating, indicated that Estonia was on the edge of his patience with Russia.

During the second occasion, Russia would shake his head, and reply with a touch of sadness, "I understand that times are difficult, but each of us is doing what we can. You want to help your comrades, yes?" Squeezing Estonia's arm, and causing the nation to grit his teeth in pain, Russia added with a smile. "I know you can do it, Eduard."

Prussia once caught Latvia suppressing a snort at Russia's encouragement, but chose against mentioning it. Russia couldn't be stupid enough not to think that Estonia was hiding things from him. Nevertheless, Prussia also wasn't planning on currying Russia's favor by bringing that up, though it was obvious to see. Rather, Prussia turned his head to look at Lithuania, who raised an eyebrow at him. Prussia gave a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment of their confrontation in the library. Lithuania, however, didn't reciprocate, rather he directed his attention toward Estonia. Prussia, begrudgingly, understood why: economic woes were no longer his, as they were for the three Baltic states. Ignoring the conversation between Estonia and Russia, Prussia turned back to his food. Lithuania distracted Latvia with a joke.

Still, the nights when Russia spoke to Prussia were those that he considered to be the worst, if only for how he felt as if he was being talked down to. "Your people are doing quite well, Gilbert," Russia declared happily, waving his fork for emphasis, "They are relieved to have their freedom from the fascists." Prussia thought of Ukraine's sarcastic comment to him about liberation, and his grip tightened over his knife. He released his grip just as soon when Russia glanced at his hand. Prussia cleared his throat. "That's good to hear. When will they be allowed access to the west?"

Russia raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see why they would want to go west. You certainly wouldn't, otherwise you wouldn't have stayed behind." Before Prussia could counter him, Russia went on in a more adamant tone, "It was not I who called for your status as a nation to be dissolved, Gilbert." He shook his head. "The punishments I allotted to you were firm, I will admit, but they were still less than my people," he paused to respectfully indicate the Baltic states, "their people, and my sisters' people had endured. I could have done far worse to you, but I realized that you needed help." He paused to take a drink as Prussia grimaced at him. "I can still see it on your face now, in fact. You need help, and you need protection from bullies like Alfred. I will protect you."

Prussia banged his fist on the table, snarling, "Don't speak as if you need to fix me, Ivan! I'm not broken!"

Silence fell over the table, and Russia, after glancing about, sighed. "I see that dinner hasn't gone very well tonight. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, you can go upstairs now." The three rose quickly, taking their plates, cups, and silverware with them, vacating the room. Prussia remained seated, glaring fiercely at Russia. Once the creaking of the stairwell had receded, Russia rose from the table. "Come with me, please. I see that we need to talk."

Prussia shut his eyes, and silently counted to three. At three, he shoved his chair back from the table, and stood. Russia knelt down, and tugged at something beneath the table, the clanking of metal and the glint of silver indicating what it was before he straightened up. Prussia's pulse sped at the appearance of the pipe, but he still held his ground. His one hand fastened to the back of his chair, while his other felt along the table, and snatched up his knife.

Russia shook his head at him. "Prussia, put it down." Prussia's eyes narrowed at him. Russia's voice gentled, the pipe slipping slightly in his grip to dangle above the floor. "Put it down." Prussia's hand slipped off the knife to fasten on the back of the chair, tilting it sideways. He stepped one leg back, continuing to size Russia up. At least he could die in a gulag as himself.

Russia stepped forward, and Prussia hissed, "Stay away from me."

"We are family, Gilbert," Russia replied softly, the pipe continuing to dangle from his hand.

At his next step, Prussia replied flatly, "Not us." Grunting, he swung the chair toward him.

Russia groaned as the chair connected with his side, knocking him against the wall, his shoulder catching the blow. He drew up his knee, and used it as leverage against the chair. Pushing against the wall, he shoved it down. Prussia let go of it, and dove for the table to grasp the meat knife. He wheezed out a breath as his chest hit the table and the contents remaining upon it, his hand frantically grasping about for the knife. His palm landed upon it twice until he at last found the handle, gripping it tightly. White hot pain exploded between his left shoulder and neck, while blue dots danced before his eyes. Prussia gasped from the pain, his head dropping down, and the knife slipping from his grip.

A hand yanked him backwards by the collar. His face hit the carpeted floor, and his skin felt as if it was burning as he was dragged along it face first. Prussia gritted his teeth against the pain, and groggily shook his head. The pain seared through his neck, and he shut his eyes.

The kitchen tile felt cool as he was deposited upon it. Groaning, he managed to turn to one side, staring up from where he lay upon his hip. Russia stared down at him with a regretful expression. Lifting the pipe, he tapped it against his hand. "Gilbert, I don't want to this to you. Let me help you."

Prussia folded one arm, and braced himself upon it, coughing from previously hitting the table and floor. The food and spilled drink that he had landed on stuck to, or fell from, his clothing. "I don't need help," he managed in a raspy tone of voice, "Leave me alone, just leave me alone. Let me go home."

"But you are home," Russia replied in confusion, "I don't understand. I took you in, but you don't want to stay?" He lowered the pipe again.

"I don't!" Prussia hissed, "You're holding me against my will! Don't you understand that?!"

Russia knelt down before him, and cupped Prussia's chin in one hand. Prussia swung his head away, but the pain in his neck made it too hard to break out of Russia's firm grip. He pounded his fists against Russia's chest, only to shriek in agony as the iron bar crashed down on his knuckles, breaking them. His hands fell limply to his sides. "And you think that America is doing anything different with Germany right now?" Russia inquired.

"It's preferable to being with you," Prussia growled.

Russia shook his head. "You are wrong. Alfred learned from you how to bully others. What do you think he is doing right now?." He shifted the pipe so that its cold metal stood against Prussia's neck, causing him to shiver. "He is killing you, Prussia, and has carried off your brother, just as your brother and you carried off my sisters." His voice hardened as he mentioned the latter. His voice softened, however, as he lowered the pipe, "I want only to protect you and the others from exploitation, not only of their resources, but of their people. Capitalism has caused the suffering of so many, and many more will follow if someone does not take a stand."

Prussia narrowed his eyes at him. "You blame America for his boss. You haven't learned a thing from the last war."

Russia shook his head. "No, I don't blame him. I want to help him, too, but right now, I can't." The pipe clanged as it hit the floor, and Russia dropped his hands to seize each of Prussia's shoulders. "But I can help you. I can save you."

"It's too late for that," Prussia replied plainly, "I'm dying."

Russia smiled, a note of mystery entering his voice. "Do not be so sure."

"If you want to save me, you're going to have to kill me anyway. I refuse to bow down to you," Prussia challenged.

Russia let go of him, and rose, the pipe scraping on the floor as he picked it back up. "But you are lying before me."

"You put me here!" Prussia snapped, tucking his hands between his knees in an attempt to alleviate the burning pain.

"Then you are broken, yes?" Russia asked, tilting his head to the side. He chuckled, and Prussia snarled at the pain and humiliation he was feeling. Prussia lolled his head against the floor as Russia continued, "Old habits die hard for you. You tried to kill me again. I was only defending myself against you."

Prussia hissed from the pain again. "You treated me as if I needed fixed."

"You and Ludwig treated me like that not too long ago," Russia replied evenly, "I would have been well within my rights to have killed you, Gilbert, after the suffering the two of you and Kiku brought to my people, but I defended your right to exist. You both tried to change my sisters and me to how you desired, as was the will of your boss. Why should I not exact the will of mine?"

"Why don't you just kill me as I am?" Prussia challenged, breaking off to cough again, "This can't continue."

Russia nodded. "No, this can't continue tonight. You're injured, and need to clean yourself."

"I can get up on my own," Prussia hissed when Russia held out a hand to him. He rolled over, and thumped his feet down on the floor. Jumping up, however, proved to not be an option, considering how dizzy he was. He grimaced in annoyance as he felt two hands slipping under his arms, and pulling him up.

"We help each other here, Prussia," Russia declared, letting go of him. Prussia kept his back to him as he went on, "We will need to heal your fingers in time for your shift tomorrow."

"They can regenerate on their own. I'm not that far gone yet," Prussia replied, taking one step away from him.

Russia's hand came down upon his shoulder. "Come. I will help you, yes?"Finding that he had no choice, considering how Russia's fingers were tightening on his shoulder, Prussia relented. "You will need your hands to clean up the mess you made," Russia added, much to his annoyance, and ushered him off to the nearest bathroom.

Seated on the rim of the bathtub, with his legs hanging over the inside of it, Prussia felt humiliated as Russia wrapped his hands. He winced, and tried to tug his arms back. Russia, however, grabbed and held them firmly. "If you continue to tug back, it will take longer."

"If you keep squeezing them, you brute, I'll keep tugging!" Prussia snapped. He gasped as Russia pushed him into the tub, banging his head off the wall. Lying sprawled inside of it, he stared up groggily at Russia, his vision blurring from the stun.

"If you want to call me a brute, I can show you a brute," Russia replied simply, folding his arms. "However, I'd rather not."

"How kind of you," Prussia muttered sarcastically, wincing at the throbbing in his head.

Russia glanced at Prussia's hands, and set aside the roll of bandages. "Your hands certainly aren't the first I've wrapped. You remember our meeting in Berlin, at the end of the Great Patriotic War?"

Prussia shut his eyes. "I wouldn't call it a meeting, considering that I was dragged in irons and gagged. What difference does it make, anyway?"

Russia's voice took an edge. "The difference is that these were so-called sub-humans that stormed the heart of the Third Reich, the same so-called sub-humans I myself bandaged," the volume of his voice dropped, "Those I could save, that is."

Prussia opened his eyes at that, and glanced up to see Russia placing his hand over his own chest. "I could feel their empty stomachs, and the machine gun bullets that ripped through them, soldiers penned in like animals and starved. I bear the scars from the latter." He dropped his hand, grasping the edge of the tub so tightly that his hand dented the rim. "Millions died in just that first year alone. Prisoners who had surrendered, and were left helpless." Grunting, Prussia sat up, drawing his legs in on himself. He had to move, and quickly.

The tub quaked as Russia fastened his other hand about it, squeezing down harder upon it. "Your last year," he growled, glaring head-on at Prussia, who groggily stood up, bracing his hand upon the wall behind him, only to cry out from the pain, and slide back down, "was insignificant in comparison to the years of agony I felt." Lifting his one hand, he pointed at him. "You called me a weak nation, in our younger days. You gloated on it. Yet, here you are, a mere human, after your years have ended, and I still collect my dead. Who is the weaker?"

Prussia glared back at him for a moment, before figuring out which button to press. "Ask your sister. You call Ukraine weak, don't you?"

Russia paused for a moment at the change in subject before replying, "That is my personal matter."

Prussia shook his head. "Oh no, I don't think so. After all, you said we're all family here, didn't you?"

"I don't badger you about Germany," Russia responded evenly, "You have quite a bit of nerve, dragging her into this discussion in such a manner, especially after what she has done for you so recently. No wonder why no one wants to be around you."

Prussia swallowed at that before returning fire. "I don't see her making visits here."

"That's her business," Russia replied, glancing away. Prussia set his jaw at that, but said nothing on it. Glancing back at Prussia, he added, "You have her to thank for your bandaged hands. She taught Belarus and me much of what we know."

"Yeah, well," Prussia braced the bottom of his foot against the side of the tub, and bent one knee, "what do you think I did with Germany? Siblings take care of each other."

Russia looked away. "Depends upon what you mean by 'care,'" he chuckled with a hint of strain, "Belarus cares for me too much."

Prussia glanced up at that. "I tried the assimilation tactic myself with Germany. You can see how that ended."

Russia shook his head. "But times are different now, Prussia. The old world, that is, your world, is fading away."

"It doesn't fade. It just changes," Prussia waved an arm to indicate himself and Russia, "Examples A and B."

"Then that is a line of thought on which we part ways," Russia replied, "Though it's not the only line of thought, specifically in reference to my sister."

Prussia's eyes narrowed. "You have two. Be more specific."

Russia propped his elbow upon the dented side, and leaned on it, causing Prussia to slide slightly forward as the tub tilted. "Ukraine, obviously. I find it strange how she treats you so favorably."

Prussia shrugged. "What's your point?"

Russia raised his gaze toward the ceiling. "I just find it a little odd. It seems like Germany and I superseded our older siblings. Ukraine is proud of me, but her boss is another matter."

Prussia had a feeling where the conversation was going. "I'm useless to you, a simple human at this point, as you so hammer in."

"No, that is where you are wrong," Russia replied in earnest, and Prussia narrowed his eyes at him.

"As a bargaining chip, I'd imagine, but then again I'd be useless, considering that you've just told me how America has my brother under his heel," he said flatly.

Russia shook his head, and patted Prussia's shoulder. Prussia tensed as his shoulder pressed down by it, but found that it wasn't painful. Russia smiled at his surprise, and continued on, "I have many good things coming soon to you, Prussia. It will just take time."

"They are more things that you can take away from me," he responded in a level tone.

Russia shrugged. "That is only if you do bad things, Prussia. I wouldn't want to reward you for doing harmful things, otherwise I would be acting just like Germany's boss."

"What about your own?" Prussia asked, his pride winning out against his better judgment.

Russia, however, didn't raise a hand against him. "My boss is different. He is stern, and can be hard, but he cares for my people, that is, my children, very much." He placed a hand over his chest. "You think you know what it is to have a broken heart, in being separated from your sibling. My heart has been broken so many times in seeing my own children turn on me. My boss, however, is like a father to them. He was the father that led them through their darkest hour."

Russia's glance became faraway, and Prussia remembered how he had seen him that last day in Berlin. Russia's gaze had been of pure and utter exhaustion. His sorrow had been hidden by a gentle smile as he bandaged the wounds of a young Russian, perhaps only slightly older than Hase. The soldier had been propped up against what remained of a wall, his face white and expression grim as Russia worked diligently upon his mangled legs, singing a song to him (military, it seemed, due to its cadence) in his native language, and reaching up to pat some warmth back into the young man's cheeks.

Prussia had balked at the sight of him for a moment, only to relax and accept his fate upon realizing that he had no means to fight or flee, held in place as he was by the soldiers. Russia had glanced up at the sight of their advance, and upon seeing Prussia, hissmile fell immediately to be replaced by coldness. Extending one arm over the young soldier's body protectively, Russia had sharply barked out a command in his native language, and Prussia was led roughly away.

In the present day, Russia smiled, and stood up. "Best you get to work, then, Prussia. Your curfew is in an hour." After the door had closed, Prussia hocked, and spat a thick wad at it.

XXXXXX

Swinging his legs back and forth from where he sat over the windowsill, and shivering at the chill air, Prussia contemplated his situation at night while he stared out at the orange lights beyond the hills. Gilbird, shivering, crept over the sill, and onto Prussia's hand. Turning his hand slowly, Prussia allowed Gilbird to walk onto his palm, and sit. Holding him close, Prussia considered opening his hand, and directing his pet to fly off to his brother's land. It would likely be safer for him there, anyway. Birds weren't what border patrols aimed for. Still, however, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The selfish reason was that he simply didn't want to be without a companion. The less selfish reason was that he wasn't sure if his loss of immortality extended to Gilbird. As an aside, he was also concerned that Germany would think him dead if Gilbird arrived without him.

Prussia stared down at the grass far beneath him. While he could use his sheets as a rope to descend, there were windows on this side, and no bushes to hide in. His fingers tightened upon the sill. Not to mention the fact that one misstep could easily break his neck. He'd done that before, of course, especially from falling off trees, or even off the top of spire during the Third Crusade, but he'd come back from it. He didn't dare admit that he was afraid of dying, but that was a factor in it. He could still regenerate from injury, but something that was mortal to a human being could easily kill him at this point. It wasn't a possibility he desired to entertain.

Reaching his hand to the wall outside of the frame, Prussia patted his palm against it, wincing at the sensation of cold, and brought it back to himself to find that it was coated in frost. It would hard not to slip on the side with it being as cold as it was. He turned his hand over to clench into a fist, frustrated at his weakness.

XXXXXX

Ukraine's reappearance to Prussia was inevitable, though far from dramatic. Exhausted form his time at the factory, he leaned heavily against the wall, coffee cup in hand, and hearing the clock tick one floor below. It had been, according to the calendar, approximately three months since Prussia's fight with Russia, and he continued to wait for the blade of the axe to fall. The heavy door to Russia's home opened, sending a vibrating shock as it bounced off the side wall. Prussia took a long sip, and opted to try his luck and spy who it was before Russia could stop him. He headed down the hall, and toward the stairs in the foyer. Pausing just after crossing through the doorway, and pivoting on his heel, he paused, and then broke into a smirk. "Well, well, well, the ghost appears once more."

Ukraine glanced up at that, but made no acknowledgment of the underlying implications of his comment. Rather, she gave a slight smile, and removed her hat, shaking it out to knock the snow on it to the floor. Reaching up, she brushed the snow from her coat. "I think myself more a snow wraith than a ghost," she responded simply.

Prussia took another sip, and descended the stairs. Pausing at the landing, he turned to face her. "Fitting, then. You seem to have a habit of appearing in and disappearing from my life as of late."

Ukraine looked down to wipe her feet before starting toward him, ascending the stairs to the landing, a suitcase gripped in one hand. "You aren't what I would consider to be a priority concern," she replied simply.

Prussia snorted at that, and lifted his shoulder to better display Gilbird to her. "I beg to differ."

She waved a hand. "Consider Gilbird a cordiality."

The bird began to preen his feathers at that, and Prussia held out an arm invitingly for Ukraine to continue up the stairs. Ukraine, however, ignored his gesture, and noted, "It's good to see you've put on weight."

Prussia's fingers relaxed around his mug, causing him nearly to lose his grip and drop it. Remembering himself, he hardened his gaze, and turned his back on her to walk up the stairs. Ukraine grasped his wrist. "Wait."

He turned back to look at her. "What is it? Shouldn't you be speaking with your dear brother soon, anyway? Why trifle yourself with a former nation like me? Frankly, I'm tired of the head games. You say I'm not a priority concern to you, yet you comment on my weight."

Ukraine let go of him, raising an eyebrow. "Suppose I can't compartmentalize my thoughts, can I?"

Prussia mounted a few more of the steps in order to be above her. "What is it?" He repeated, "What is it you want from me?"

Ukraine indicated the room with a broad gesture, and Prussia nodded, pointing down at the clock. Ukraine held up her hands, palm out, splaying out her fingers and thumbs. Prussia gnawed at the inside of his cheek. Ten minutes wouldn't be enough for him to figure out her intentions, but nonetheless it would provide him some form of information. Prussia at first began to lead the way up the stairs, only to realize that Ukraine most likely knew the house better than he did. Moving aside, he allowed for her to lead the way.

Ukraine led him down a series of side hallways, and up a twisting, narrow stairwell, before pausing at a doorway. She turned back to look at him before entering through it. "I assume Russia showed you this area, didn't he?"

Prussia shrugged. "He showed me the entire house. We're all 'family' here, aren't we?" He inquired with bitterness in his voice.

She smiled, and gestured for him to follow her. The room at the end of the hall contained a simple bed, hutch, and hope chest at the foot of the bed. Ukraine placed the case upon her bed, and Prussia joked, "Oh, you're going to stay for dinner?"

Straightening up, she noted, glancing about, "It's been a while since I've last stayed here."

"I'd thought you'd have left some indication that this room was yours," Prussia commented, setting his cup down on the hope chest, and folding his arms, "I'd actually assumed that this room was meant for a human inhabitant."

Ukraine held up a finger. "That's the beauty of it, though. I blend in with others."

Prussia countered, "It also makes you easy to be forgotten among them." He waved a hand to indicate the bare trappings of the room.

She removed her coat to drape over her arm. "Occasionally, plainness has its uses," she replied, her lips curling up into a smile, "It allows me to fade in and out when I please, similarly to a ghost."

Prussia thought of Hungary's chess set. "Why did you let Hungary tell me what you are to her?"

"Simple, really," Ukraine replied, sitting down upon the bed, and reaching over to unlock her suitcase.

Prussia turned away from her. "Don't."

"I have nothing to hide," she offered.

Prussia shook his head. "You don't have to illustrate the point." At Ukraine's silence, he chuckled, turning back on his heel, and pacing over to stand before her, "Funny how the realm of women is still beyond my comprehension."

Ukraine grinned at that, and laughed. Prussia lowered his shoulders as the scene became more relaxed. "It is good to see you are still alive, Gilbert," she commented, "and as well as you are."

"Physically, anyway," he replied plainly, "Though once again I ask why I even matter to you so much. It's obvious that your brother has plans of his own for me. Considering I'm in his house, you won't get as much use out of me."

Ukraine folded her hands in her lap. "Admittedly, part of it was sympathy. Your status as a nation had been erased, and you were all alone without your brother. Russia has called me weak before, and perhaps I am in the regard that I dislike seeing others in such pain."

The bottom of Prussia's shoe thumped against the side of the hutch. "You said yourself that I had a hand in the misery of others, let alone how I bullied Russia in the past. That isn't someone worth an ounce of sympathy. Regardless, Russia wouldn't have allowed you to take care of me if that was the reason." His fist clenched at his side. "That's it, then, isn't it, Katyusha? You groomed me to think that I had an ally in this?"

"That's the obvious answer," she admitted, "But it's not the full truth."

He released his fist. "Then tell me what it is."

Ukraine rose from the bed, and walked past him. Prussia noted that she was wearing a skirt that dragged along the floor, and followed its rustling movements with his eyes. Her steps, quieted by the small carpet beneath her, were muffled over the floorboards. A step, however, sounded hollow against the floorboard, and Prussia raised an eyebrow at that. Turning about, she replied, "I'd asked you for help in fighting off my brother's influence once before, but you denied it. Now look where we are. I'll admit that it does give me some form of amusement to have you relying on me for once."

Prussia ran a hand through his hair, looking away in embarrassment. "You seem to be in two minds about Ivan."

"As you are about Ludwig," she replied gently, and Prussia tensed. Waiting a moment for him to cool down, she continued, "For as much as you miss him, Gilbert, his war has effectively killed you. You know that as well as me."

Prussia shook his head, and waved his hand in a chopping motion. "I don't care! He's alive!"

Ukraine held out a hand. "Don't you get it, then?"

Prussia sighed. "It seems as if we both weren't the best candidates for this."

"Our mistakes have come back to roost," Ukraine agreed, "As to what that'll mean for the future, I'm not entirely sure. Nonetheless, it's better that we stay together on this. I know Russia better than you ever will. You wanted to live to see your brother again. Here you are today, and here you will be for quite some time."

"You won't be here forever, Ukraine. In fact, why are you even here today?" He asked, suspicion taking hold of his voice. "I gather it's something to do with me, from what I've been overhearing?"

Ukraine smiled. "You're in the spotlight again."

Prussia jammed his hands in his pockets. "I don't want to be like this. I'm unsure of anything, these days, save for the work I am given. Every time I am singled out, it is to become Russia's plaything. I'm tired of it." His fingers kneaded at the inner fabric of his pockets.

"You know what's like to be one of us, then," Ukraine replied.

Prussia glanced up. "How you could love someone like this is beyond me."

She held out her hands, moving each as she spoke. "Pot, kettle." Dropping her hands, she continued, "Whether you like it or not, your fate is currently out of your hands."

"Then why did Russia let you see me when I was locked up? Surely he knew what you were doing in there," Prussia questioned.

"It's simple, really," she shrugged, rubbing her hands together, "my taking care of you gives him something to use against me. Still, had I not, I wouldn't have gotten your apology, now, would I?"

Prussia laughed, pacing closer to her, his hand held out just beneath her chin. "So, you and Russia are trying to gain control of me. I'm quite popular."

Ukraine tilted her head back and stepped away from him. Reaching up, she grasped his hand to lower it between them. Quirking a smile, she asked, "Perhaps I could be a friend? You could use one now."

Prussia let go, and turned away from her. "I have Hungary for that."

"She is as much under my brother's thumb as I am. If the difference is only in blood, you know better than to consider that to be a factor. Both you and Russia were responsible for blood being spilled on my land. Quite honestly, I'd be at liberty to leave my brother's side after what he put my people through."

Prussia glanced over his shoulder at that. "Yet you choose to befriend me."

Ukraine nodded. "You are, for the most part, alone here."

"I much prefer it that way," he hissed, "I have Gilbird. What else could I want?"

"For time to spin in reverse, though we know that that is completely out of the question."

He sighed. "Ukraine, what aren't you telling me? There has been talk about me for weeks."

"Just as I say."

Prussia turned back around. "If you actually have some degree of care for me, you'd answer me more clearly." Ukraine's eyes narrowed. Prussia realized too late that he had offended her, but he chose to press his point anyway. "Otherwise, I'm just another piece on your playing board."

Ukraine drew her skirt about her ankles. "How dare you?" She hissed, throwing Prussia off slightly with her defensiveness. "You accuse me of such a thing without knowing me." Leaning forward, she drove her pointer finger into the hope chest to emphasize her point. "Think, Gilbert. You live in this house. I do not. If I told you everything, it would be easy for Russia to wring it out of you. I have my own concerns to address."

Prussia smirked at her. "The opposite of your sister, then. You don't want to become one with your brother. We do want the same thing." The smirk fell. "Nonetheless, you know what happened when you beat Austria. Hungary told me, in fact."

Ukraine nodded her head solemnly. "Our people come first. That never changes."

"You see why I can't trust you."

She strode past him to tug back the curtains to her window in one swift motion. Prussia shivered from the winter wind, snowflakes flying in as she threw up the sash. Turning back to look at him, her body framed against the light, she replied, "Then this is your alternative. Distrust Elizabeta and me all that you want, and be alone with your pet in a land you do not know."

"And how long do you plan on keeping this charade up?" Prussia asked skeptically, leaning against the bed.

"For as long as my brother and I are at odds." She placed her hands together, and closed her eyes. "Perhaps I phrased that wrong. I'm not personally at odds with him, rather it's our bosses."

Prussia barked out a laugh, and Ukraine opened her eyes. Straightening up, he explained, "You remind me so much of what I used to be, not too long ago. My brother, I had umbrage with, but I loved him despite that. His boss was another matter, however."

Ukraine folded her arms. "It seems as if both have much to learn."

Prussia shook his head. "But not enough time." Turning his hands over, he displayed to her the callouses on them. "So, my protégé brought us into a new field of warfare."

Ukraine stepped forward, and closed his hands. "One that hopefully will not be re-entered. Hiroshima and Nagasaki were devastated; no one wishes for that to happen to another city, be it Moscow, Kiev, or Minsk. This last war has exhausted us all, and you know that more so than anyone else."

Prussia smiled at that, lowering his hands. "Yet we have the strength within ourselves to build weapons for the next one. The old ways haven't yet died out. Are you scared, Ukraine?"

Her fingers twisted in the air for a moment before fastening in her skirt. "It is you who should be. Our time's up; I must see my brother." She brushed by him, and exited out of the room. As her footsteps retreated down the twisting staircase, Prussia knelt to the floor. Grasping the small carpet in one hand, he whipped it off to deposit across the floor. Thin black gaps in the floorboards revealed to him a hollowed out square with a latch over it. He tugged on it experimentally, but found, to little surprise, that it was locked. Russia and Ukraine's voices, garbled by the distance, drifted up to him from the floor below. Sitting back on his heels, Prussia pondered what it could mean, his eyes widening as he recalled the missing books from the library. Whatever lay beneath there, then, was a past, buried but not forgotten.

He threw his arms about his person tightly, and grit his teeth against the cold, staring up at the open window. Internally, however, he knew that it wasn't coming from outside. He just hoped that he wouldn't be the next item to disappear under that trap door. Rising, he strode over to the window, and slammed it shut. Bracing one hand upon the pane, he leaned forward, staring down at the floor as he caught his breath.

* * *

Historical Notes:

60% of the Soviet POW's who were captured by the Wehrmacht during World War II died due to horrific mistreatment and starvation. The machine gun round scars Russia bears (but are not seen, as he did not remove his clothing) are unfortunately from this. The POW's were so badly starved that when scant rations were placed out, they ran to get them. The Wehrmacht guards then took the liberty to quell the chaos by firing on the starving POW's with machine guns.

Ukraine is referring to the year 1791 in her dialogue with Prussia. During that year, in which relations between Prussia and Russia were rocky, a Ukranian nobleman, Vasyl Kapst, tried to enlist Prussian assistance for a uprising against Russian oppression. He did not succeed. In a way, Ukraine is informing Prussia that she is watching him squirm under pressure. While this has a degree of spite to it, this is also Ukraine laying out her card on the table, that being she isn't wearing a false face around Prussia. While she does sympathize with him to a point (the factors of which they discuss in their dialogue), she is still unhappy and distrusting of him for the events of WWII. She is only sticking 1791 as a another needle into him, partly to serve as a warning to him not to underestimate her, and partly out of pettiness.

While the other Allied countries agreed upon the dissolution of Prussia at the end of World War II, the USSR had a differing opinion, hence Russia's dialogue with Prussia.

The works by Trotsky are still missing from Russia's library because Nikita Khrushchev has not yet come into power at this point in the story.


End file.
